CP BK III CH VI Caregiven Actions Have Consequence
by wanderingchat
Summary: Actions have consequences, some actions can be made better, others not.  As the service for David Hale approaches, everyone in Charming and Klamath Falls comes face to face with this harsh reality.


The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

**Charming Pawse **

**Book III**

**Chapter VI**

**Caregiven**

**Actions Have Consequences**

The club settled in their chairs in the chapel, waiting expectantly for Clay to call the meeting to order. He quickly informed them of Attorney Lowen's news. The only men not affected by the possible bail revocation were Chibs, Piney, and Opie.

Jax reminded them the DA hadn't pressed charges against them for the MCC assault. He had no doubt they'd wind up doing some kind of Federal time, due to the presence of the AK's, though the Feds had yet to act. Meanwhile, the latest intel indicated Abel was still in Canada.

The 'MC Pony Express' was due to make another gun run for the Irish. Jax decided he would go on to Klamath Falls after handing off the guns to SAMRRO, get Gemma and sneak her across the border into Canada. Then he could seek Abel's return.

He announced his intention to go it alone, but Clay put it to the vote and the entire club voted to go along. Their support vanished the loneliness he'd battled the night before in his empty house.

Bobby mentioned that Gemma would have to be told about Abel's kidnapping. Clay promised they would both break the news to Gemma.

The club filed out of the chapel, leaving Clay alone at the head of the table. He removed his cell from his pocket, entered the number to Tig's throwaway, and pressed 'send'.

Tara followed Gemma back into the house, through the kitchen, and down the basement steps. She stopped two steps behind Gemma, who was looking across the basement. Tara's gaze was drawn to the figure who gasped an inquiry from the wheelchair where she was bound.

'This is more than complicated!' Tara thought wildly, watching as Gemma placed the bedpan under the woman. While the captive eased her bladder, Gemma told her about Nate and asked where he might've gone.

Amelia quickly realized that she had some leverage over Gemma, and figured out how to use it to her advantage. She offered to make some calls in exchange for her freedom.

'She's one smart bitch!' Gemma thought. She acidly reminded the caregiver that she wasn't in a position to make deals.

Amelia snarled that she was finished with the bedpan, refusing to give Gemma any information that would help her find Nate. Gemma removed the bedpan from under Amelia's rear and handed it to Tara.

Tara grimaced in disdain. "I'm a doctor, not a bedpan rustler!' She turned aside and placed the bedpan back on the utility table.

Amelia believed Gemma would have to accept her offer if she truly wanted to find Nate. She whined about the physical discomforts she experienced from being tightly bound for hours.

Gemma desperately wanted to find her father, but she wasn't willing to trust Amelia not to include the Feds in those 'few calls' she offered to make. 'That bitch cares more about herself than my father!' Gemma matter of factly reminded the caregiver that she was far from home and no one in town would care if she never just happened to disappear.

'I can't believe the bitch is threatenin' me! She's every bit as crazy as Rose described!'

Gemma assured Amelia that she was being practical. Over Tara's shocked objection, she mentioned all the different tools that could make a person uncomfortable. She implied that the caregiver would suffer very dire consequences if Nate was hurt because of her stubbornness.

After her initial objection, Tara remained silent as Gemma tried to convince the caregiver to help her. Tara fought back a wave of nausea when Gemma mentioned the tools and what she could do with them.

Amelia responded with a fat hawker that she spit onto Gemma's cheek, nearly hitting her in the eye. Gemma hauled off and back handed the taste out of the caregiver's mouth.

Tara's cry of dismay brought Gemma to her senses. 'Beating the bitch won't make her talk, but I'm running out of ideas!' She stormed up the stairs, ignoring Amelia's whimper of pain.

Tara remained behind, still fighting the urge to throw up. A large, angry bruise was forming on the caregiver's cheek. There was a cut in the center of the bruise. 'I'll treat that later. Gemma needs me."

She raced up the stairs to find Gemma pacing in the living room. Tig was sitting in a recliner drinking coffee and watching Gemma with wary eyes.

"What happened down there?"

"Gemma tried to persuade the caregiver to help find Nate," Tara explained. "She wasn't very willing to help."

"I'll bet!" Tig growled. "Likely put a condition on it. Best leave her where she can't cause any more trouble!"

"And if the caregiver isn't gonna help us, we have to help ourselves!" Gemma stopped pacing and began issuing brisk orders. Tara, take your car, see if you can find Daddy's car somewhere around town. Tig, there's a notebook on that table, try calling some of Daddy's friends."

Tig wasn't comfortable with that idea. 'I'd rather Tara made the calls while I cruise the area!' The thought of Gemma's scathing response kept him from speaking up. 'Nah. Better keep quiet. I owe it to Gemma for not checkin' out that car in the first place.' He nodded, dug out the throwaway, and started making calls.

Tara wordlessly gathered her purse and keys. She felt a need to be alone for awhile to sort out her chaotic thoughts. She'd not been feeling well since the night after the murder and kidnapping. 'This has hung on too long to be a virus. I only hope it's not what I think it is.'

She cruised up and down the streets near the Madoc home, stopping here and there to ask if anyone had seen Rev. Madoc or his car. Every answer was the same; no one had seen him.

'It's as if he disappeared after he drove out of the driveway!' Tara thought with frustration. She stopped at the pharmacy to pick up an item that she intended to use in private - just to make certain her self – diagnosis was accurate.

Tig worked down the list of names in the notebook, calling each of Nate's friends. He met with the same result as Tara. No one had seen hide nor hair of Nate.

"I'm going to call the church. His former secretary might know something," Gemma announced.

"Uh – Gemma, that's not such a good idea," Tig warned. "We don't need her alertin' the Feds."

Gemma glared at him. "I trust her more than I ever trusted Rose!"

Tig winced. "That may be, Gem. Big money like that reward makes people do crazy shit."

"She was my dad's secretary for years!" Gemma snarled. "She's like a mother to me, Tigger! She never ratted me out! I'm callin' her, and that's final!"

Gemma dialed the number to the church office and explained her problem to Jean Peterson. "He slipped out while the caregiver and I were busy."

"I'm sorry, honey. He's not been here," Jean replied worriedly. Though she was obviously as concerned as Gemma, her voice was like a balm, momentarily soothing Gemma's raw nerves.

"In fact, I haven't seen Nate since the funeral. Been meaning to stop in to see him, but we've been busy here."

"I know, Jean. Getting used to someone new after all those years with Daddy has to be difficult," Gemma replied.

"It's just taking some getting used to," she replied. "I could call some of the members and have them conduct a search."

"That'd just get Daddy more upset. He has difficulty remembering names and faces from one minute to the next."

"I forgot about that," Jean sighed. "Let me know when he comes home safely."

Gemma felt some hope that the secretary didn't say 'if Nate returned safely. She thanked the woman, turned off the cordless and returned it to its' base.

Tara walked into the house to report her lack of success. Tig announced he'd had the same luck with his phone calls.

Gemma resumed her pacing. 'We wouldn't be in this mess if that greedy Gaute would've helped!' Gemma muttered a curse at the woman she held responsible for her current predicament.

Tara thought she was referring to the prisoner in the basement. She pointed out there wasn't much the caregiver could do tied up and locked in the basement.

Gemma snarled that she wasn't referring to the caregiver and threw a folded up newspaper at her mother's curio cabinet. The one piece glass door shattered into pieces.

Gemma knew she was about to fall into a crying jag and fled the room. 'I can't even take care of my own father without it turning to shit!"

Tara felt overwhelmed by Gemma's extreme mood swings. It was the second time that morning she'd seen Gemma lose her temper. 'Gemma's acting out from stress, Considering what she's been through, I can't blame her!'

She wanted to order a prescription to alleviate the PTSS Gemma was experiencing but knew it was out of the question. She couldn't write a 'script for herself, and knew that the Feds would descend like stormtroopers if an order for Tig or Gemma was filled by the pharmacy.

Nor could she ethically write such a prescription for Nate. She'd never treated him and the anti – anxiety medicine that would benefit Gemma wouldn't help Nate. It might even interact against his own prescribed medications, which would raise another red flag for the Feds.

She turned to Tig, casting an inquiring glance at him. "Who was she talking about?"

"Her mother," he murmured. "Gemma didn't exactly get along with her."

"I guess not!" Tara dumped her purse on the couch. "Guess I'll clean up the glass," she added, collecting the broom and dust pan from the kitchen pantry.

Tig recognized that Gemma was showing all the signs of PTSS that Cat described to him months ago when her mother died. He knew that seeing her dad's current state hurt Gemma deeply and she needed help dealing with it.

'Maybe I should have Cat talk to her. She needs to talk to someone. She misses her family, and that doesn't help. Wonder if I can talk Clay into ridin' up here to visit her.' He stood up and walked wordlessly past Tara to the back door.

Piney backed the Caddy out of the service bay and parked it in the lot. He sighed wearily, thinking of the pile of paperwork demanding his attention. 'It's not gonna file itself!' he moaned inwardly, heading reluctantly towards the small office.

A cheery horn toot turned his attention away from the office. Lyla's Prius pulled into a parking space. She got out of her car and waved, meeting Piney near the Cadillac.

"Hi, darlin'!"

"Hi, Pop! Could I borrow the Caddy? The kids are getting out of school early for Hale's funeral."

Piney grinned knowingly. The kids preferred the roominess of the Caddy's back bench seat to being cramped together in the back seat of the Prius. Lyla was more than willing to wrestle with the land yacht over hearing them whine.

"And here I thought you were here to visit me!" He pouted jokingly.

"Well, that too!" Lyla grinned.

Piney's eyes twinkled as he handed over the keys to her. She kissed him on the cheek and headed for the car just as the other men walked out of the clubhouse.

Her heart skipped a beat to see Opie striding across the lot to her. She still couldn't believe that he'd come to care for her so soon after losing Donna. 'Life would be perfect if he wasn't so hung up about my work!'

She listened intently as he told her of the offer from Lin. 'I can use this to prove my loyalty to the club and help Ope!'

She assured him she could contact Ima and some of the other girls who were needing work. With both Caracara and Georgie Caruso's studios shut down, she was certain the girls would jump at the chance for some ready cash.

Opie was inwardly pleased that Lyla didn't include herself until she offered to donate her take back to the club. 'Dammit! I know she wants to prove her worth as my old lady. I wish she'd find a different way to do it!'

Ope's obvious lack of enthusiasm for her offer would've been an insult to her. Now Lyla knew he was trying to hide his dislike for her work behind a wall of indifference. She reminded him that she only had a couple of good years left in the business and had to strike while the iron was hot.

'There's a lot more to you than your looks!' Opie thought angrily. 'It's _what _you are that counts with me, why isn't that enough for you?' He kept his thoughts to himself, murmuring that he didn't want her to wind up being sad about her choices.

Lyla assured him that she couldn't be sad with him in her life. Not caring that the club was looking on, she embraced him and ardently kissed him.

Clay, Bobby, and Jax were sitting on their bikes watching them. Wolf whistles and applause broke out in response to their passionate embrace. Opie felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. Lyla grinned and turned to the car as Opie walked back to his bike.

The men teased him over his growing relationship with Lyla. He straddled his bike and prepared to follow Clay and the other two from the lot.

They were going to pay a visit to Elliot Oswald, who'd posted the massive bail for SAMCRO weeks earlier. Clay felt it was only right to advise him of their intention to go to Canada and assure him his bond was safe.

Unaware of the chaos caused by his absence, Nate Madoc perched on a log near a lake several miles away. He held the hunting rifle in both hands, gazing miserably out over the water without really seeing it. His memory was flooded with recent events that his illness had kept buried.

_Amelia had originally been hired to help Rose care for him. Rose's heart condition had rapidly deteriorated in recent months, including the need for constant oxygen. That made it difficult for her to properly care for Nate. _

_Rose's health rapidly declined after Amelia moved in. She became bedridden and was unable to care for herself though her mind was still as sharp as a razor. Rose's care took up more of Amelia's time and attention than the more ambulatory Nate. _

_Rose refused to be admitted to a nursing home and wouldn't consider hiring nursing help. Amelia tried to take care of the elderly couple on her own, but it was physically and emotionally draining. _

_Rose's constant need for assistance required Amelia to move into the master bedroom with them. She slept on a leather chaise in order to be on hand when Rose needed her. Nate, who was more ambulatory required watching due to his mental state. Amelia was doing the work of two caregivers with little time to rest. _

"_Please, Rose. I can't care properly for both of you all by myself! It's too much for one person!" Amelia cried with fatigue one morning while she thought Nate was eating breakfast. She'd returned to the master bedroom to find that Rose had accidentally soiled the bed in the short time she'd been tending to Nate. _

"_It's not necessary to get another caregiver," Rose insisted while Amelia bathed her and replaced the soiled linen with fresh. "Nate's not that bad off. You were hired to help me take care of him." _

"_I know that. But things have changed since then. You just can't expect me to care for both of you 24/7 with no help! You need much more care than Nate and it's wearing me out. It's not safe for either of you, and completely unfair to me!"_

_Rose gazed intently at Amelia's face, noticing for the first time the dark circles under her eyes and other tell – tale signs of fatigue. She knew Amelia was in the US on a temporary visa because her lawyer had made all the arrangements. It would've been easy to take advantage of the girl, but Rose had grown closer to the caregiver than she'd ever felt to her own daughter. _

_Rose knew that Amelia had a valid point. "I'll make the arrangements, my dear. Hand me the telephone so I can call my lawyer," Rose replied with a soft smile. _

_Within a few hours, another caregiver was brought in to work alternating shifts with Amelia, allowing her adequate time to rest and run errands. _

"_If I die before Nate, there'll be no need for the second caregiver to stay on. Amelia can care for him during that short time it will take for Nate to be admitted to the nursing home," Rose reminded her lawyer. _

_Neither Rose nor Amelia knew that Nate had overheard them on his way down the hall to his study. He felt saddened to learn he was a burden to his wife and the caregiver. The discovery shamed him. He never let on to the women that he'd heard their conversation. _

_The night Rose died, Nate had been left alone with her while Amelia ran a quick errand. The other caregiver had called in sick and the pharmacy had failed to deliver Rose's medications for the second day in a row. One vitally needed medicine had run out two nights earlier and Rose was experiencing severe complications from the lack of medication. _

_Amelia considered calling one of the church members to stay with the couple. What kept her from doing so was that Nate's dementia had gotten to the point where he needed to be constantly reminded of everything. Amelia felt it wouldn't be wise to expose a former church member to their former pastor's erratic behavior. _

_'Nothing is going to happen in the few minutes I'm away! Rose desperately needs that medicine! I'll just go get it and come right back.' _

_Amelia found Nate in the den, watching television. _

_As usual, he didn't immediately recognize her and needed reassurance of the caregiver's identity and Rose's location. _

"_Who are you? How'd you get in here?" he thundered, looking around him for a weapon to drive her away. Amelia had long ago removed anything that might cause anyone physical harm. _

"_It's all right, Nate. I'm Amelia. Rose hired me to care for the two of you," she explained patiently, holding her hands out to show she meant him no harm. _

_He squinted at her for a few moments. "Oh, yes! The caregiver!" His eyes narrowed as he looked over Amelia's shoulder. "Where's my wife?" _

_Amelia sighed inwardly, drawing on her stores of patience. "Rose is fine. She's bedridden now. That's the reason I was hired to stay with you two." _

_Amelia lost count of the number of times she'd told him that same thing during the day. Invoking his wife's name seemed to act like a talisman; he always calmed down once he was told that Rose was fine. _

"_Oh, that's right," he replied quietly. "She's in the bedroom." _

"_I have to go to the pharmacy to get some medicine for Rose. I won't be gone long." Amelia looked directly into his eyes. She'd learned that making direct eye contact seemed to help Nate better comprehend what he was being told. _

"_That's fine. You do what you need to do," Nate assured her. _

_Things had gone horribly wrong while Amelia ran her errand. Nate went to the bedroom to visit with his wife, who was tossing and turning in the bed, mumbling irritably to herself. _

_He sat next to her on the bed, drawing her into his arms in an effort to comfort her. Rose pushed him away and turned on her side so her back was to him. _

"_Leave me alone, Nate! I don't want you to touch me!" Rose snapped. _

_'This is so unlike her,' he tried not to feel hurt by her rejection, but it was difficult. 'Her temper hasn't been this bad in years!' _

"_Everything hurts, and nobody seems to care!" she added angrily. "Why don't you just leave me alone!" _

_Nate stood up as to leave, but moved around the bed to sit on the leather chaise near the wall. He opened the drawer to the bedside table and withdrew the family Bible. _

"_Would you like me to read Scripture to you?" he inquired softly, fearful of another rejection. _

"_I don't care!" she snapped, turning onto her back. Her hands moved over her arms and chest as if she were brushing something away. _

_Nate closed his eyes in silent prayer, asking God to help her. "It'll be all right, Rosie," he replied consolingly. _

"_No, it won't be all right! It'll never be all right!" _

_Nate decided to read from whatever page the Bible fell open to. He laid the spine of the Holy Book on his lap and released it. The Bible opened to the Book of Ruth, and he read from the start of the chapter. _

_At first, Rose ignored him, continuing to fidget and squirm. As he continued reading, his voice seemed to soothe whatever was bothering her. She became less agitated and lay quietly, concentrating on the sound of his voice. _

_He looked up once from reading to see her gazing at him without the veil of pain and anger that had clouded her features earlier._

"_Amelia will be back soon with your medicine, sweetheart. It'll just be a little bit longer and you'll feel better." _

"_I'm sorry for what I said earlier, Nathaniel. Everything's just so – difficult," she replied softly. _

_He reached out his hand to cover the thin, frail one that lay on the blanket. "You don't have anything to apologize for, Rosie. I love you." _

"_I love you, too." She smiled and closed her eyes, squeezing his hand as tight as she could. "Keep reading, darling. It's helping to keep my mind off - things." _

_He returned to the passage, picking up right where he'd left off. He thought Rose was resting quietly. Suddenly, she sat upright, her brows knitted in fury. _

"_Where is that girl? She should be home by now!"_

"_Amelia's not been gone long. Likely there's a line at the pharmacy counter," Nate replied soothingly. _

"_I don't know who you're referring to; I'm talking about Gemma! That girl's out gallivanting around with those hoodlums again!" Rose retorted, glaring angrily at him. "You're much too lenient with her, Nathaniel! If you're not going to discipline her, I will!" _

_Before Nate could stop her, Rose threw the covers aside and got out of bed. Her legs were too weak to support her. She fell, crying out his name before her head hit the drawer that he'd left open. _

_The Bible fell from his suddenly nerveless hands as he tried to catch her. Both Rose and the Bible hit the floor at the same time. _

"_Rose? Sweetheart? Are you all right?" _

_She didn't respond. Her eyes were closed and her body motionless. The only sound came from the oxygen flowing from the canister into her nostrils and his own heavy breathing. _

_Nate fell to his knees beside her. "Rose? Don't leave me, Rosie!" he cried, reaching out to touch her. She was warm, but so very still. He couldn't tell if she was breathing._

_Nate rose shakily to his feet, his eyes straying to the open drawer. A small amount of blood stained the corner where Rose's head had struck it. He recoiled in horror, his mind refusing to accept what he'd just witnessed. Tears streamed down his face as he stood helplessly over his wife. _

_'I don't know what to do! I don't know who to call!' He backed out of the room and fled to the safety of his den. 'She'll be OK. Amelia will be back soon and everything will be fine!' _

_Amelia returned a few minutes after Rose's fall. 'I can't believe those idiots couldn't find the order! How can a filled prescription get misfiled like that?' She'd felt uneasy about being gone longer than she'd anticipated. She passed the den on the way to Rose's room to find Nate sitting in his chair, looking very pale and shaking. _

"_Are you OK, Nate?" _

_Nate looked up at her with a quizzical expression. "Where's Rose?" _

"_She's in her room, Nate. I got her medicine and will take it to her now," Amelia replied soothingly. _

"_All right," he replied, his voice sounding almost child – like. He stared attentively at the blank television screen. _

_Amelia walked down the hall to Rose's room. Her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of the empty bed. She dashed inside and gasped when she found Rose's crumpled form on the floor beside the bed. _

_She knelt by her patient's side to check for a pulse. _

_Cool skin under her questing fingers told the caregiver the sad truth. Rose was dead, and she'd obviously died alone. She gazed at the open drawer and spotted the blood on it. 'If Nate found her like this, it pushed his dementia into overdrive. He would've denied she was in trouble!' _

_She went to the study to use the telephone. She called the coroner's office first, then Rose's lawyer and finally Nate's doctor. The doctor was a close friend of Nate's. Amelia felt he would be helpful when she broke the news to her charge. _

_'Things are going to change real quick around here now.' _

_Minutes later, the house seemed to hum with activity. The coroner had contacted the sheriff about Rose's death. Both treated the room as a crime scene. Pictures were taken and potential evidence gathered. _

"_I don't believe we're looking at murder," the coroner announced. "Rose was ill and weak for some time. Amelia stated the pharmacy hadn't refilled a required medication in a timely manner, some kind of inventory foul up. That would've increased her weakness, possibly even made her delusional." _

_The coroner pointed to the still open drawer and the spot of blood staining the corner. "The lump and cut on the back of her head is more indicative of an accidental fall than a deliberate blow. I suspect she opened to the drawer and didn't close it when she took the Bible out of it. Or, if Nate took the Bible out to read to her, he forgot to close the drawer," the coroner added, pointing to the Bible on the floor. _

"_You think she tried to get up and fell against the bed table?" the sheriff inquired. _

"_I'm fairly certain of it. We'll know more once I do the autopsy. There's no way Nate would've done this. Dementia or no, a so – called mercy killing is not in his nature!" _

"_Let me know your findings as soon as you can." _

"_As Rose's lawyer, I also represent her husband," the lawyer intoned. "Are you seriously considering charging Nate with murder?" _

_The sheriff shook his head. "I'm keeping my options open until we have more facts. This has all the indications of an accident. Until I have the coroner's report, I can't make a definitive decision." _

_He turned to gaze at Nate's doctor. "Do you think I could talk to him?" _

_The lawyer started to protest, but the doctor raised his hand to stop him. "If he saw Rose fall, which I suspect he did, it would've sent him deeper into the dementia. He wouldn't understand your questions, much less give clear answers." _

"_We may never learn what really happened," Amelia offered softly. _

_The sheriff nodded his head. "True. The coroner's report will give us information, but it won't tell the whole story. At least the woman's at peace." _

"_Something tells me it'll be anything but peaceful for Nate," the doctor mused. _

_Amelia waited until the sheriff and lawyer left to break the news to Nate. The doctor stayed behind to help her. Telling Nate that his wife was dead nearly broke her heart. _

"_Where's Rose?" he asked querulously. He pointed accusingly at the doctor. "What is he doing here? Is Rose all right?" _

_Amelia knelt in front of Nate, looking up at him before glancing at the doctor, who nodded slightly. Taking a deep breath, Amelia announced, "I'm sorry, Nate. She's gone." _

"_Why are you sorry? She's probably gone to get her hair done!" Nate replied. "She'll be home soon!" _

_Amelia's eyes brimmed with tears of sympathy. His doctor stepped forward, laying a hand on the older man's shoulder. "No, Nate. Rose isn't coming back. She died a little while ago." _

_Nate looked up at his doctor, then at Amelia's tear stained face. "D – dead? She can't be! No!" He sprang to his feet and looked wildly about the room. "Rose! Come back, Rosie!" _

_Amelia and the doctor exchanged glances then gently grabbed both his arms and gently led him to one of the unused bedrooms. The master bedroom would need to be cleaned of all evidence of her passing so Nate wouldn't be further upset. _

_The doctor and Amelia forced Nate to lie down on the bed. Nate continued to struggle and cry for his wife. While Amelia sat on the edge of the bed and held Nate's hand in hers, the doctor prepared a hypodermic sedative._

"_This will help him sleep for awhile," the doctor explained to the caregiver. Raising his voice so Nate could hear, he continued, "Nate, I'm going to give you something to relax you. You've had a terrible shock and need to rest." _

_Amelia had raised the sleeve of Nate's shirt up his arm to allow the doctor better access. The doctor quickly injected the tranquilizer into Nate's arm without another word. _

_The sedative took effect in a few minutes and Nate drifted into a troubled sleep. Jean Peterson and some other church members flocked to the house to help Amelia remove all the items associated with Rose's last illness. When he awoke hours later, all traces of Rose's last illness had been relegated to the basement where he would never be reminded of it. _

_The next morning, Rose's lawyer began the process of getting Nate admitted to the nursing home and selling the house. A buyer had shown interest long ago and had been willing to wait for the house to become available. The lawyer also contacted the funeral home so that Rose's final wishes could be carried out as she'd preplanned. _

"I left her to die alone on that floor, never got help for her. I never even said 'goodbye'!" he cried aloud, tears gleaming in his eyes.

Only a few birds heard his anguish. Their response was to break into cheerful song that only added to his misery.

He put the rifle under his chin and tried to reach the trigger. A part of him wanted to die; he hated the way his mind kept straying on him. "I can't stand to hurt my daughter; I see her pain and can't do anything to make it better!"

Every time he tried to pull the trigger, the rifle slipped out from under his chin. It seemed as if God was working against him, refusing to allow Nate to take his life.

He held the rifle against his shoulder so that the barrel pointed to the sky. Tears of shame poured from his eyes as he sobbed in frustration. "I can't even kill myself properly!" he wailed miserably.

Cat gazed in triumph at the music teacher as the combined choir left the music room. The two students who'd played guitar for the choir stayed behind.

"You must be some kind of miracle worker, Cat," Girton observed. "We'd worked for over half an hour on that bridge without success, then you come along, say a few words, and the kids nail it on the first try!"

Cat shrugged off his praise. "It was just a matter of reverse psychology, David."

He turned to the two guitarists and waved them forward. "I wanted you to meet with these two young men. They both play for the choir and the band on lead and bass guitar."

"Glad all y'all were around to help. Y'all did great."

"We'd like to accompany you this afternoon, Miss Cat," the bassist, Steve Hamner replied. "I know you worked with Bobby Munson last night, and he's good."

"Yeah," the lead guitarist, JC Berdoo added. "We have a garage band and that's one of the songs we play. U2 has two guitarists, one more can't hurt."

"Besides, Miss Cat," Hamner continued, "you won't have to play _and _sing with your injuries!"

"All very valid points in all y'all's favor," Cat observed. "Frankly, I found out last night my arm's not up to performance standard. I'd consider it an honor to have all y'all accompany us."

"You two get moving on to class before you're late," Girton warned good naturedly.

The two students grinned and left the practice room. Girton ushered her into his office, indicated she should have a seat and poured a cup of coffee for her.

"Thanks, David. This will take the edge off," she sipped gratefully at the brew, recognizing one of her signature roasts.

"You're welcome. I appreciate you taking the time this morning to work with us. The tape helped, but your presence meant a lot to them. They really look up to you."

"Guess cause I relate to them as equals instead of as an adult to kids. Some of 'em will talk to me when they're too scared to speak to their parents. Often they just want a non – judgmental ear. I listen and don't preach."

The two – way buzzed in her pocket. "Excuse me, David, I'll just step out to the practice room to take this."

"Stay here, I've got to run a quick personal errand," he offered, retreating out the door before she could protest.

Tig strode into the garden to escape the turmoil inside the house. He dug the throwaway out of his pocket and called the clubhouse.

"SAMCRO clubhouse, Chuckie speaking."

"Clay around? It's Tig," he announced.

"Sorry, man. You just missed 'em. He's goin' out to see that lumber guy."

"Oswald," Tig supplied.

"I accept that. Then they've got a meeting with Lin about some guns."

"The club gonna attend Hale's funeral?"

"Far as I know. I'm riding with Piney in the van. Do you want me to have Clay call you?"

"Yeah. He's got the throwaway number," Tig replied. "Take it easy on yourself, Chuckie."

"I accept that," he replied.

Alex dug the two – way from his pocket, returning the throwaway to another pocket. He hoped he'd be lucky enough to catch his woman up and about.

"Hey, love!"

"Hey, back! You just now gettin' up?" Alex replied with a broad, teasing smile.

"No. Been practicin' with the combined JR/SR high school choir," she replied.

"Huh! I called earlier, but got last night's message. Why didn't ya change the voice mail, woman?"

Cat snickered. "Sorry, love. Was runnin' on a tight schedule and didn't take the time to change it. By the time I thought of it, the practice was underway and I wanted to set a good example to the young 'uns."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Yup! And I'm stickin' to it like glue!" she retorted merrily.

"You sound better than last night," he observed.

"Feel a little better, too. The knock out pill helped a bit, though it didn't stop me from dreamin' about y'all!"

"Hope it was nice and naughty!" he growled. "Do ya have a ride back home?"

"Of course!" she replied, wincing as her voice involuntarily rose in pitch. 'Oh, Hell! He's gonna know I've done somethin' he won't be happy with. Technically, the _Black Beauty_ **is** a ride!'

'Shit! I know that tone of voice!' Alex frowned as it always meant Cat had done something he wasn't going to be happy to hear. "Cat," he replied warningly. "Do _not_ tell me you drove yourself there!"

"OK!" she readily agreed.

"Dammit to Hell, woman!" Alex roared. "I can't believe you'd take such a careless chance like that!"

Cat winced and held the phone away from her ear. "Y'all wanna repeat that, love? I don't think they heard y'all in Stockton Prison!"

"I'm not jokin' around with ya, baby!" Alex replied, though he did lower his voice. "I couldn't take it if you have to go back in the hospital!"

She felt warmed by his obvious concern, covered up by his alpha male bravado. "Would it make y'all feel better if I said I took my arm outta the sling to drive?"

Alex sighed in exasperation.

"Alex, love, I didn't have much choice," Cat explained reasonably. "We lost JR, so askin' one of 'the kids' was out. June's been great about playin' taxi driver, but I wasn't about to put her job in jeopardy to cart me to the school, pick me up later, then leave again to take me to Hale's funeral!"

"And that's supposed to make it OK that ya drove in your condition?" Alex snarled angrily. 'Not to mention scarin' me?'

'There goes the alpha male again!' she rolled her eye to Heaven in supplication. "Alex, love, it's only as far from our house to the school and back! I'm takin' it nice and easy and bein' very careful."

Alex sighed in defeat. "It's not like Charming has a taxi service."

"For the record, love, I _did _try callin' Tara and Lyla for a ride. Tara's phone is turned off, and Lyla got a one – shot job she couldn't pass up. The guys are busy enough without playin' taxi driver, and I just don't feel comfortable around the Croweaters."

"Yeah, true dat," he agreed reluctantly. "Guess ya didn't have a choice."

"Thanks for understanding, love. At least I didn't ride _Blackie II_!"

"Don't you even think of it!" he retorted. "June's still drivin' you to the funeral?" He added mentally, 'She'd better!'

Definitely. I'm not up to handlin' that kind of drivin' yet. With practice over, I'm goin' straight home to rest awhile."

Alex's couldn't believe his ears. "What about the web orders, emails, and office shit?"

"The 'kids' are gonna handle packin' the orders for me. Pete printed the emails so I can work on 'em at my leisure," she explained. "As far as 'office shit', one day away from it ain't gonna hurt me."

"That's a better plan than the transportation one," he replied. "Anything else new?"

"Yeah, and you're not gonna like it." Cat told him about Stahl's visit to gloat about the upcoming bond revocation hearing. "I recorded it to play for y'all later. She still believes you're with Gemma. I'm glad the demotion has her on a tight leash," she added.

"Appreciate the heads up, baby. You know ya don't have to record any of your talks with Stahl. I trust you."

"I don't trust_ her_. Given her talent for causin' chaos everywhere, I feel better havin' a recordin' as back up."

"As long as you know you don't have to prove anything to _me_," he assured her. "I'll get with Clay about the bond thing later. By the way, can you do somethin' for me?"

"What's that, love?"

"Give Gemma a call. She needs to talk to someone about her dad. It's overwhelming her."

"Sure. What's the number?" she copied the number on a scratch pad from Girton's desk and pocketed the slip. "I'll call her when I get home," she promised.

"Good. You be very careful goin' home, woman!"

"I'll call y'all when I get home so you'll know I made it home in one piece, instead of pieces," she laughed.

"Don't joke like that, baby!" Alex shuddered, thinking of the recent wreck. "You damn near wound up that way a few days ago!"

"Y'all don't have to remind me! I'll talk to y'all when I talk to ya. Stay safe, love!" She abruptly ended the call because she couldn't bear hearing the pain and longing in his voice any longer.

Oswald Industries warehouse buzzed with activity. Forklifts zipped between stacks of freshly cut and treated wood while employees bustled from one place to another. Telephones rang in the office while men shouted at each other across the large enclosure. Oswald ruled over the organized mayhem like a benevolent monarch.

He didn't realize that he had visitors until he saw Clay walking towards him, followed by Jax, Opie, and Bobby.

'Now what does Clay want? I've already agreed to turn over that parcel of land for their warehouse, along with providing utilities!' He involuntarily reached behind him to make sure his wallet was still in his back pocket. 'Seems like every time I talk to Clay, it winds up costing me money!'

He could tell by Clay's expression that whatever had brought SAMCRO to visit wasn't good news. He inwardly braced himself while cordially greeting the men.

They talked of Oswald's upcoming campaign against Hale for mayor. Oswald had planned to announce his candidacy the day after the Peace Rally. Then the stand – off with LOAN and the Mayans had occurred, and Oswald's election advisors had deemed it prudent to delay the announcement for a month.

"If you announce your intent now, Hale will remind everyone that you put up the bond for those outlaws. Public sentiment isn't completely behind SAMCRO at the moment, and it will negatively affect you."

It didn't help matters that Jacob Hale was using his brother's tragic death as a leverage with the voting public. Oswald witnessed that during the CBOA meeting the previous evening when Hale had made dark comments against SAMCRO and their friends in the business community.

Before he could utter a word of defense for himself, Cat Marshall had hissed an angry warning. It appeared that the majority of the CBOA agreed with her, and Oswald had been content not to take part in the discussion.

He knew the voters would be harder to convince than the business owners. He also knew that Hale would continue to play on the publics sense of loss as long as he could. The consensus was that the primary would decide the outcome of the mayoral race. The fall election would just be a formality.

Clay shared with Oswald that Hale was instigating having their bond revoked, adding that Stahl had already tried to use the news to trick Cat into giving away Tig's actual location.

Jax then mentioned the club had a solid lead on Abel's whereabouts in Vancouver. Oswald realized what the club wasn't directly telling him. 'This news couldn't come at a worse time!'

Jax assured Oswald that the Sons had no problems with serving time on any Federal gun charges coming from the MCC assault. He just wanted his son safe and Gemma cleared of the false charges before the club was locked up.

'I can relate to that feeling,' Oswald acknowledged, recalling his own daughter's assault. Had it not been for SAMCRO and Gemma, his daughter's attacker would still be free to harm other innocent children. Oswald had the attacker's severed gonads secured in a safe place, along with the knife the club had used. They served as a daily reminder of what SAMCRO had done for his child.

Clay stated the club had no intention of leaving Oswald holding the bag for the bond. He assured the businessman they would return in plenty of time for the bond hearing.

Clay knew that Oswald had an uphill battle looming in the primary. The businessman had posted the bond for the club. Jacob Hale was already using that against Oswald.

Jax snorted in derision, reminding Oswald that Hale had brought LOAN and Zobelle to town, which resulted in all the recent tragedy. 'If you don't play it up, we will!'

"People are worried that the drive – by was an indication that there's going to be another war like 10 years ago," Oswald explained.

"The Mayans didn't do the drive – by," Clay assured him. "It's a minor MC called the Calavarez from Lodi."

"What on Earth is their beef with you?"

"They're tryin' to earn a Mayan patch," Jax replied. "We're workin' on keepin' that from happenin'."

Oswald closed his eyes, scrubbing his face with his palm. "I'm not going to ask how you're going to do that. Just as long as you succeed."

"We will," Clay growled.

'I don't doubt that," Oswald thought to himself, shaking hands on it with Clay, then Jax before the club departed.

He shook his head and walked into his office. There was a phone call he needed to make and he couldn't put it off any longer.

Amelia heard Gemma storm up the stairs, followed a few seconds later by another set of lighter footsteps. The door clicked shut and she knew she was alone with that ghastly country western music and her thoughts for company.

'I've got to get out of here! That bitch is psycho! She's not gonna let me go she made it clear she plans to kill me so I won't turn her in!'

Amelia strained against the tape binding her to the chair, trying to loosen it. She tried lifting her arms, then her legs. The duct tape was strong and wound too tight. She couldn't move her extremities an inch.

Pins and needles shot up both arms from the slight movement. She hissed air through her teeth from the pain. Her toes curled against the footrests, sending more pain up her legs.

She bent over to tear at the tape on her arms with her teeth. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes when she failed to make a cut in the tape. It was so tight against her skin that she couldn't work any of it free.

She leaned against the wheelchair back, feeling hopeless. Her mind worked furiously to try to figure out a way to escape certain doom.

'That other girl is probably a friend of Gemma's. She seems a little less loony, but considering her choice of pals, I can't count on her for help!'

Amelia thought back over the last day, following Tig's injury. 'I remember Gemma talking about calling a doctor up from somewhere to take care of Tig. He'll be here soon.' A smile of triumph crossed her lips, though her cheek stung from the move. 'If I yell loud enough when he gets here, he'll help me out of this mess. I can't wait to see Gemma's expression when the doctor discovers me!'

A discreet cough alerted Cat to Girton's presence. "I couldn't help hearing your side of that phone conversation, Cat. Guess Tig is worried about you driving. Can't say as I blame him. If I'd known you needed a ride, I'd have come for you myself!"

"Y'all start your day a little earlier than I do," she joked.

"I can see why Tig gets annoyed at you at times!" Girton retorted. "You are a stubborn woman!"

"Yeah, Tig's mentioned that a few times," she grinned. "I work hard to maintain that reputation," she grinned.

Girton sighed in exasperation. "That may be the case, but you're not getting your way this time!" He grabbed the two – way out of her hand and activated it.

"Hey, baby! I was about to call you back. Why'd you hang up on me?" Alex inquired.

"_I _didn't hang up on you, honey," Girton replied.

"Who the fuck are _you_ and where the Hell is my woman?" Tig growled menacingly. Though Cat was at the school, that didn't mean someone with ulterior motives couldn't have overcome her in the parking lot and taken the phone from her.

"Take it easy, Trager! It's Girton, the music teacher!" Girton replied, unafraid of Tig's ire.  
>"She's fine. Just seething that I took the phone from her. I wanted to tell you not to worry about her getting home safe."<p>

"You're the guy that helped her with that _Rocky Horror _thing," Tig observed a little less angrily.

"Guilty as charged."

"Sorry for yellin' at ya," Tig huffed. It was the closest he could come to an apology to the teacher.

"It's OK, man. I understand your concern. One of my student assistants will drive her home; I'll follow them. This is my free period so we'll be heading out shortly."

Alex closed his eyes with relief. "Appreciate that, man. How'd ya get her to agree to it?"

"I haven't – yet," Girton laughed. "But she will. Doubt she wants to spend the rest of the day here when she can relax at home."

"Watch out, man! That kinda talk will have her usin' digital communications on ya!" Alex laughed.

Cat was already using the middle finger to adjust her glasses as Alex spoke.

"She just did," Girton replied with a grin.

"Good luck dealin' with my girl! I owe ya one, Girton."

'Never know when that might come in handy,' the music teacher mused. "Want to talk to your lady?"

"I'm sure she's got somethin' to say to me!"

Girton handed the two – way to her. Cat glared at it, then at the music teacher before accepting the phone. "I hope all y'all are happy now!"

"Relieved, baby. I know you wanna do things for yourself. Now's not the time for that shit. Let Girton lend ya a hand. It ain't gonna kill ya!"

"I guess not," she replied. "Just seems like a lot of fuss and bother for no good reason!"

"You know better than that!" Alex cajoled her. "Get home, have some coffee. Rest up for the service. That's an order, woman."

"Bossy male animal!" she retorted affectionately.

"You oughta be used to it by now! I'll talk to ya later, baby!" he laughed and shut off the two – way before she could issue a suitably scathing reply.

Nate felt tired and drained from his emotional storm. 'Amazing how God reminds me that He's still with me when I think He's forsaken me. He's obviously given me this clarity for a better reason than taking my life.'

He looked at the rifle cradled in his arms and sighed resignedly. 'This thing has caused too much harm. I can't have it around any more.' He stood up and threw the gun with all his strength into the lake.

It landed in the center and sank like a stone, likely to never see the light of day again. The box of shells received the same treatment.

'No one ever comes here. Those will be a lot safer there than at the house.' He squared his shoulders and shuffled back to the car. He welcomed its' cool, dark interior after the bright sunlight. He started the car and slowly headed home.

He knew that the dementia would eventually overtake him again. While his mind remained clear, he wanted to talk to Gemma about the night her mother had died.

'Thank you, Lord, for giving me this opportunity. Please see me safely home, so that I can speak coherently to my child,' he prayed silently.

Gemma slammed the door to her bedroom, panting and gasping from holding her feelings inside. Tears of frustration and heartache poured down her cheeks. She threw herself face down on her bed, indulging in a good, old – fashioned crying fit similar to those she'd had as a child.

'I can't take this! I can't take care of my father, not in the way he needs! Shit! I can't even keep him from takin' the car and runnin' off to who knows where! I miss my father and I miss my family!'

She sobbed into her pillow, not wanting Tig or Tara to hear and try to comfort her. She needed to be alone for awhile. 'They did what they could to help find him. A woman couldn't ask for any better friends! What am I going to do if Daddy hurts himself or shoots someone?'

She eventually cried herself out and turned over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Gemma knew she was out of her element where caring for her father was concerned. It tore her heart out to see how her father's once sharp mind had become so muddled. 'Talking to the caregiver is out of the question now. She'd clam up outta spite!'

"_I don't wouldn't wish anyone to have someone they love fall victim to that thing, Gem," Tig stated during the ride from Rogue River the other night. "Cat's step – mom has it, doesn't remember from one minute to the next what ya tell her. Kept callin' me 'Bill' every time she saw me." _

"_Did you mind?" _

"_Nah. She's a sweetheart. A bit temperamental when she doesn't get her way, though. Wasn't her fault that she confused me with Cat's dead husband." He grinned and added, "Plus, she likes Snickers bars." _

_Gemma smiled. "At least you had somethin' besides kitty love in common!" _

"_Be nice, Gem!" _

"_I am!" She was silent for awhile then asked, "Ya think Cat would mind if I picked her brain about it?" _

_Tig shrugged. "You can ask her. If I know my girl, she'll share everything she knows. Might be of some help to ya." _

Gemma resolutely pulled out her throwaway, digging into her pocket for the paper Tig had given her. The paper had Cat's private cell number written on it.

"Yello!" Cat had just returned from the school. She was lying on the bed, trying to relax. The feline trio surrounded her as if they could prevent her from stirring.

"Hey, there. It's Gemma."

"Hey, back! Everyone OK?" Cat tried not to sound overly concerned, but Gemma wasn't fooled.

"Shit! Sorry, hon. We're all fine I - I just needed to talk to someone about Daddy – someone who isn't in the medical field but has some experience with this kind of thing."

"Oh," Cat breathed softly. "Sure. I don't have a lot, Gemma. Just from the occasional visit home."

"Anything you can share with me might help," Gemma sighed wearily.

"You don't sound too good. What's happened?"

"Daddy took off in the car and we can't find him anywhere!" Gemma wailed.

"Damn! Y'all must be frantic!"

"That's one way of puttin' it," Gemma replied wryly. Her spirits were already lifting from Cat's genuine empathy and quick grasp to the situation.

"What the Hell was the caregiver doin', makin' goo – goo eyes at Tig?" Cat snarled.

Gemma blushed. She certainly didn't want to open _ that _particular can of worms! "She was packin' to go home. Nate – Daddy – enters the nursing home tomorrow. Guess she thought we were watchin' him. I was fixing breakfast and Tig was still in his room."

'Probably tryin' to call me,' Cat thought guiltily.

"Nate seized the opportunity to go off on his own. Not surprising. Alzheimer and dementia sufferers are a lot like small children in a big box store. Turn your back for a few seconds and let go of their hand and they run off on ya!"

"I've found that out," Gemma mused. "How do you deal with the guilt, Cat? It's not like ya can watch 'em all the time."

"That's the key phrase, hon. _Y'all __**can't**__ watch 'em all the time. _ You do the best you can, make the place as safe as possible, and hide anything that might harm them or someone else."

"Like locking up the car keys?"

Cat smiled a little, "Or removin' the distributor cap and hidin' it. You mean the keys weren't someplace where he couldn't get 'em?"

"Afraid so."

"The caregiver should've taken care of that a long time ago!"

Gemma mentally added that failure to her list of grievances against Amelia. "I agree. That's somethin' I plan to address!"

"Too bad y'all can't fire her ass. Sounds like she's only got a couple more days of employment," Cat observed dryly. "Keep in mind that you didn't do anything wrong, Gemma. It's like your father's mind is lost in a dense fog. Sometimes it lifts for awhile and they can see clearly. The sad part is that it doesn't last long."

"What really scares me is that he took the hunting rifle with him," Gemma admitted.

Cat whistled sympathetically. "Damn! No wonder you're so upset! That caregiver really dropped the ball!" She realized then what was _really_ upsetting Gemma. "Oh, hon! Surely you don't think he's gonna shoot up the town or himself?"

"I wouldn't be so worried about it if he hadn't fired it off in the house yesterday!" Gemma replied tersely. "Oh, shit! I didn't mean to say that!"

"Too late," Cat replied quietly. "Let me guess, your father shot Tig, didn't he?"

'Now to see if this cover story will fly!' Gemma wearily rubbed her eyes. "I'm afraid so, kitten. He mistook Tig for a burglar and shot him in the back."

Cat didn't respond so Gemma hastened to reassure her. "Tig's OK. I was able to remove the bullet in one piece. Tara's here and treated the wound, says it's clean, free of infection, and missed bone and muscle."

'That explains why I couldn't reach her this mornin'!" Cat snorted in exasperation, "I can't believe the _nerve_ of that man for not sayin' anything earlier, and yellin' at _me_!"

'A lot of women would be wailing and cryin' to hear their man's been shot. Cat just gets hissed off about his attitude towards _her_ injuries!' Gemma couldn't keep from smiling. "You sound a little pissed at him, kitten."

"I am! Tig went all caveman macho on me when he found out I drove out to the school to practice with the choir. He didn't say a single word about havin' a frackin' hole in _his_ back! Damn him!"

"Haven't you learned by now our men live by 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

"Doesn't make it right," Cat huffed.

"True. I woulda thought you might be a little more concerned about his well being," Gemma replied teasingly.

"He sounded perfectly fine when he was tellin' me off and not sharin' his own status!" she retorted haughtily.

Despite her concern for her father, Gemma found herself smiling at Cat's reaction. Well, go easy on him when you see him again," Gemma replied. "He cares about you, otherwise he wouldn't have groused about you drivin' solo."

"I won't make any promises. Especially when he says nothin' about his own wounds!" Cat growled.

"He didn't want you worryin' about him," Gemma replied.

Cat sighed in resignation. "Whatever. I hate to be a spoilsport, but we have more important things to discuss besides Tig. How long has your dad been missing?"

Gemma did some mental calculations. "About an hour, I think."

"Has the caregiver been any help?"

"She and I had a - disagreement - earlier; I think she's off somewhere sulking. She stormed out just before I realized Daddy was gone. I should've kept a better eye on him," Gemma sighed.

"Don't go there, hon. You're his daughter, not his guard nor his keeper. I doubt he'll take his own life, much less hurt anyone else. He might just be off huntin' squirrels or somethin' like that," Cat assured her.

"I hope so. Maybe this is one of his clear thinking days."

There was a brief, companionable silence, then Cat observed, "When y'all think about it, this is kinda ironic."

"What do you mean?"

"Y'all are worried about him as much as he once fretted about you durin' your wild and wanton youth," Cat replied reassuringly.

Gemma smiled trembled as a rush of long buried memories overcame her. "You're right, kitten. I _did_ cause a few premature grey hairs for him."

"The kind only a true out of control preacher's kid can cause!" Cat laughed.

"Yeah, and you haven't quit, have ya? I notice Tig's sportin' a few new grey ones!"

"Probably the ones you gave him the other day!" Cat retorted archly.

"Touche! Takes an out of control PK to know one!"

"You know it! Try to keep my guy outta mischief, will ya?"

"That's a bit of a tall order, kitten!" Gemma laughed.

"Tig's a tall fella," Cat laughed. "I'm here if y'all need to talk again. Hope it helped."

"It did. More than you can imagine," Gemma replied. "Wanna talk to your guy?"

"Not at the moment. Later when y'all have Nate safe and sound. Give Tig a hug for me."

'That's the second time someone's not used the word 'if' in relation to Daddy's disappearance,' Gemma observed. "I'll do that, kitten. Take care of yourself. And thanks for lettin' Tig be here when he'd rather there takin' care of you."

"No big deal," Cat replied.

"It is to me. I won't forget this." Gemma stated softly, turning off the cell.

Gemma rose from the bed, feeling better than she had since shooting Zobelle's daughter and being confronted by Stahl. 'Guess it's time to check on the Gaute. Maybe she'll be more co – operative this time.'

Tig remained in the garden after he spoke with Girton and Cat. He enjoyed a smoke while thinking over the news his woman had shared.

'Revoking our bond is a problem. County's not a good place for us. The AB won't have as much leverage, but we'll also have to watch out for the Latins. We'll need help on the inside, that's for sure!' He shuddered at the memory of the club's few hours at the SJCCF and the attack on Juice.

The throwaway buzzed in his pocket; he reached for it and held it to his ear. "Tig," he growled.

"Clay. You alone?"

"Yeah." He could hear traffic in the background.

"There's bad news."

"I heard. Stahl taunted Cat with it," Tig replied.

"Hale's behind it. Revenge for his brother's death at the wake. Revocation hearing's in two days."

"Shit! Asshole works fast!" Tig's hand started messaging the bridge of his nose.

"There's some good news. Precious' husband, Serge, found a lead on Cameron Hayes. Last seen in Vancouver. We're headin' up that way tomorrow. Plan is to collect Gemma and get her over the border, then search for Abel."

Tig sighed inwardly in relief. "She needs her family; Nate's condition has been tough on her." He didn't tell Clay about Nate's disappearance, there'd be time enough for that later.

"We're runnin' the last of the Irish handguns to SAMRRO, then we'll head there. We'll break the news to Gemma about Abel then."

"I know she misses you. Prolly best to tell her when you're here, get it out in the open." Tig heard Chinese being spoken in the background. "Where the fuck are ya?"

"Outside one of Lin's places, The Palace. His Chinese friends are havin' a little porn party with the Caracara girls. We're gettin' guns for the Bastards and cash for a merc to get intel on Abel in exchange."

Learning that he was missing out on an Asian – American pussy buffet didn't upset Tig like missing the patch over party in Nevada. 'Maybe gettin' shot while in the act did somethin' to my libido! It can't be from not bein' interested!' He stroked the bridge of his nose again at the thought. "Did ya talk with Oswald?"

"He's not happy, but he understands that we want to get Abel back before we turn ourselves in."

"Clay, I don't think it'd be a good idea for the whole club to show up here tomorrow. Nate's goin' into the nursing' home; havin' all of SAMCRO here might set him off."

Clay winced, his heart breaking as he imagined what his wife was going through. "I get your drift. Jax said Tara went up there at Gem's request. What the fuck is goin' on? Is Nate that bad?"

"Nah," Tig grinned. "Nate caught me fuckin' the Guatemalan caregiver. Thought I was attackin' his wife and shot me in the shoulder."

"I'll bet that's not the official version your wife's gettin'!" Clay chuckled.

"You'd win that bet, and Cat doesn't know about the shooting. If it comes out, she's to be told that Nate mistook me for a burglar and shot me."

Clay smiled wryly. "Half a truth is better than the full truth, especially when it comes to road sex. So it'll just be me and Jax comin' there. We'll meet the others somewhere North of town."

"That oughta work," Tig replied. His ears caught the sound of an approaching car engine. He looked up to see the Cadillac slowly enter the drive and pull to a stop behind the Olds. "Gemma needs help with Nate, I'll call ya later."

"Give my girl my love," Clay replied, looking up as Jax strode out of the restaurant towards him. He pocketed the cell phone and puffed on his stogie as he spoke with his step – son about missing his mother. He gave Jax a one – armed hug before going into the restaurant to check on the party.

Cameron Hayes wasn't in Vancouver. He and Abel were across the ocean in Ireland. They'd endured a long and cautious journey since he'd taken the child. The most difficult thing for Cameron was leaving his son's body in California for the authorities to bury. Having Abel to care for brought him a little comfort in his grief.

He'd sold everything he had – car, guns, and boat – for ready cash. He'd barely managed to cover the cost of the trip and the false passports.

'Gud thin' I thot o' usin' two diff'rent providers! Tha' guy wi' tha glasses asked far too many questions!'

He'd taken the bus to Canada, holding his breath when the ID's were checked at the border. The passports turned out to be worth the money he'd spent; the officials granted Cameron and Abel entry into the country without question.

Cameron had stayed at a lodge one night in Vancouver, then boarded a train there, unaware that he and Abel had been captured on camera. The train took them back to Washington state, where they boarded a freighter ship bound for England.

Once in Great Britain, Cameron 'acquired' ground transportation and traveled to Belfast, ditching the 'borrowed' vehicle outside the city limits. He'd walked to the block where his cousin - Maureen Ashby's – apartment was located, waiting until night to make his approach.

He spent the daylight hours watching her store and the alley next to it, observing SAMBEL's activities. The clubhouse was located in what was known as Ashby's Alley. Hayes paid particular attention to McGee, one of the SAMCRO 'First Nine' and current President of SAMBEL.

When he felt it was safe and McGee was occupied in the clubhouse, he sneaked across the street and up the stairs to Maureen's. After a brief, whispered conversation at the door, Mo allowed him access.

"Yer lucky Trinny's on holiday," Maureen announced tersely as she made tea for them both. "Ye can sleep on 'er bed tonight. I'll contact Father Kellan; ye should be able ta speak ta 'im in tha mornin'."

"And ye'll tayke caire o' tha wee bairn?" Cameron inquired tiredly. He was operating on little sleep, the idea of a soft bed and safety was hard for him to resist.

"Aye," Mo replied, glancing fondly at Abel, who slept peacefully in her arms. She was initially frightened by Cameron's confession of killing the Prospect and taking Jackson Teller's child. 'Tha's John's grandson!' she thought in wonder. 'It's nae gonna be easy ta keep tha' wee bairn frum McGee, much less Father Kellan, but I'll do it, somehow!'

After cleaning up the broken glass, Tara decided to check on the caregiver. 'I didn't like that bruising on her cheek. Gemma really backhanded her hard! It won't hurt to check it out.'

She retrieved her medical kit and crept down the basement stairs. Amelia's face turned in Tara's direction as she approached, though the caregiver say anything. Only her rapid breathing told of her fear that Gemma had returned.

Tara sat down on an overturned bucket beside the wheelchair, placed the medical kit on the floor and opened it. She turned to examine the cut and bruise on the caregiver's face.

Amelia gasped and jerked away from Tara's probing fingers. Tara assured her she wasn't going to hurt the woman and that her wound needed to be treated.

'She's the doctor they were waiting for!' Amelia's mind raced over possibilities. She remembered the voice from earlier. It was the same one that had taken Gemma to task for hitting her. 'This may work out for me! All I have to do is get her to free one hand!'

As Tara began to clean the cut, Amelia complained about the lack of circulation in her hands and feet. Tara could see that the caregiver's extremities were very dark from the tight bonds. 'That's not good for her. It can't hurt to undo one limb at a time, let the blood flow, and then bind her a little less tightly.'

Tara agreed to free an arm, warning the caregiver not to try anything while she went looking for something to use to cut the tape.

'Oh, I won't try! I'll do it!'

Tara found a box cutter on a shelf and used it to free Amelia's right hand from the arm of the wheelchair. Amelia hissed through her teeth as the blood started to flow.

Tara murmured sympathetically. She rubbed the caregiver's arm to help stimulate the blood flow, making it less painful.

'I need to think fast. If I ask for the bedpan, she'll have to turn away to get it. Then I can lift the mask and get my bearings!'

Tara agreed to bring the bedpan and turned to get it from the utility cart. Amelia used the few precious seconds to glance around her. There was nothing to her left that she could use as weapon. To her right, possibly within reach, were the oxygen canisters.

'Perfect!' Before Tara returned, Amelia lowered the mask back over her eyes. Tara placed the bedpan in front of Amelia's rear. She pretended to have difficulty lifting herself up to cover that she was reaching for the oxygen canister. 'I almost hate to do this. She's the only one of them to treat me decent. Too bad she picked the wrong people for friends!'

Tara realized that Amelia was wiggling too much to be having such difficulty getting the bedpan settled under her. She looked up just in time to see the heavy metal canister fly at her head. There was a moment of blinding pain, then she fell unconscious to the floor.

Amelia worked quickly, dropping the canister and using her right hand to roll the wheelchair to the utility table where Tara had left the box cutter. She didn't know or care if she'd killed the physician.

'Better her than me! I'll get loose, get some clothes on and get outta here. First phone I find, I'm calling the cops!'

Amelia had just started to saw through the tape binding her other wrist when she heard footsteps approach the basement door. She looked up to see Gemma start down the steps and froze in fear.

'No! Not when I'm this close!' Amelia gripped the box cutter firmly in her hand. If she had to, she'd use it on Nate's daughter.

Tig's voice hollered for Gemma, stopping her progress with the news that Nate had returned. Gemma turned and ran back up the steps, closing the door behind her.

Amelia sighed with relief then resumed the job of getting herself free. The pins and needles that shot up her arm was almost exquisite. As soon as her arm was free, she bent to saw through the tape binding her legs.

She had to wait a few minutes after freeing her legs before trying to stand. She rubbed her legs and arms to restore the circulation. Once the pins and needles feeling subsided, Amelia gingerly placed her bare feet on the floor and stood up, gripping the utility table for support.

She rummaged through the bag of Rose's clothes, pulling out a pair of green pull on knit pants and a shirt. 'Not my style, but can't take time to be choosy!'

Tara lay motionless on the floor. Amelia needed shoes, and Rose's were too small. She believed Tara's shoes might fit. 'Not like she needs 'em at the moment!'

She ruthlessly removed Tara's shoes and slipped them over her bare feet. Tara never moved a muscle, but Amelia could see the even rise and fall of Tara's chest. 'Guess it's good that I didn't kill her after all. She's gonna have a hell of a headache, though."

'I need to find a weapon. I don't have to walk now that Nate's back. I'll get the keys and take the car. Before I do, I'll deal with those two assholes for turning against me!'

She looked all over the basement for something small but lethal. Her fingers closed over a knife near the slop sink. 'Perfect!'

Amelia slipped up the stairs and placed her ear against the door. She listened for any movement on the other side. 'Guess they're outside with Nate.' She quietly opened the door and peeked out. No one was in the kitchen; she could hear voices outside.

'Now to find the keys. There has to be another pair somewhere!' She mentally kicked herself for never making the house safer and rounding up all the car keys. 'Maybe if I had, Tig wouldn't have gotten shot, and I wouldn't have spent the night taped to a wheelchair!'

She methodically searched the kitchen, keeping away from the windows so Gemma and Tig wouldn't see her. She didn't find any extra car keys in the kitchen drawers. She searched each room of the house, pawing through drawers and any other conceivable place where car keys might be kept. Her search was fruitless.

"How in the Hell can a family only have one set of car keys?" she snorted. The sound of the kitchen door slamming closed startled her. Amelia picked up the knife and held it to her chest, hiding in her bedroom and waiting.

'If it's the cutie, I'll be happy to de nut him with this!' Amelia comforted herself. 'If it's Gemma, I'll cut her throat after she turns over the keys!'

Gemma's heart raced at Tig's announcement that Nate had returned. She ran out the back door after him, her eyes searching the drive. She felt as if a huge weight had been taken from her shoulders when she saw the car wasn't damaged.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He was headin' for the garden," Tig replied.

Gemma placed a grateful hand on his arm for a moment, then rushed to the garden. Her father was standing on one of the paths, inhaling the perfume from the roses he'd planted years earlier.

"Daddy! I'm so glad you're safe!" Gemma threw herself into her father's arms, not caring whether he recognized her or not.

Nate's arms went around his daughter, holding her close to him. "I'm sorry to have worried you, honey. I – I needed some time by myself to think."

Gemma was laughing and crying at the same time. 'He knows me! He knows I was upset and worried about him!' She couldn't believe her luck. She kissed his cheek and laced her hand through his arm. "C'mon, Daddy. Let's sit on the bench for awhile."

"That's a good idea, honey. I need to talk to you about the night your mother died."

Gemma shook her head. "It's not important, Daddy. What's important is that you're safe and home."

Nate shook his head as they settled on the bench. "No, honey. It's _very_ important to me. I need to tell you about that night, and I need you to listen."

The landline phone's shrill ring woke Cat from a light doze. She reached with her good hand to answer before the call could go to voice mail.

"It's Elliot Oswald, Cat," the businessman responded to her sleepy greeting. "Sorry to wake you."

"It's OK. Are you callin' about the guys' bond hearin'?"

Oswald wasn't surprised that she'd ask him about that. "No. Something else entirely. I need your help to provide a little political back up for me."

Cat eased herself in a sitting position, leaning against the head of the bed. The cats stirred sleepily, glared at her, then settled back to their naps. She was suddenly wide awake. "I'm listening."

"I'm planning to run against Hale for the mayor's seat," Oswald informed her.

"Y'all certainly have my vote. I'll do whatever I can to help the cause," she replied.

"That's good. I want you to run for one of the city council seats."

"Are y'all nuts?" Cat retorted. "I don't know the first thing about bein' a politician!"

"Perfect. That'll make you a good member of the council. I suspect Hale's going to win the primary. The town needs someone on the council that won't rubber stamp everything he wants to do!"

Cat smiled grimly. "Y'all must be some kinda mind reader."

"Why do you say that?"

"I was thinkin' along those lines after Stahl told me about the bond revocation. It smelled of Hale. I guess Clay told you about it?"

"Yes," Oswald acknowledged. "He told me they're going to join up with Tig at the trade show, _take a little trip further North_, but be back in time for the hearing."

Cat was intrigued by Oswald's statement. 'He's stickin' to the cover story, yet lettin' me know the club's headin' to Canada. If he knows that much, Clay trusts him. He's bein' careful with what he's sayin'. Another plus.' Cat cleared her throat and replied simply. "Sounds like a very good idea."

'I think I see why Tig paired up with her. She's quick on the uptake,' Oswald mused. The more he learned about Cat Marshall, the more he liked. "Will you do it?"

"If it'll help keep Charmin' the way it is, why the Hell not? Besides, givin' Hale a hard time sounds like fun!"

"It's not gonna be easy, Cat," Oswald warned. "Jacob Hale comes from an old political family; he doesn't play softball. He could make things difficult for you."

"I hope he _does_ pull somethin'," she replied earnestly. "Hell, I've survived worse than anything Jacob Hale can dream of on his worst day!"

"Don't you have to discuss this with Tig first?"

"Later. When he gets back from his trip," she replied. "Tell me what I gotta do to make this happen."

Gemma led her father to one of the stone benches and sat down next to him. She asked him where he'd gone but he wouldn't tell her. He did admit to getting rid of the gun because he remembered shooting someone, maybe even killing them.

She assured him Tig wasn't dead and understood it was an accident. Nate nodded, but his expression didn't change. He sat with bowed shoulders, as if the weight of the world was on them.

Nate stated that he hated days where he could remember things. He preferred not remembering at all, even if it meant forgetting the many good things in Life. He tearfully related Rose's final hours and how he'd failed to help her, leaving her to die alone after she fell.

Gemma felt sad over her father's confession. 'That's what it amounts to. He feels the need to confess to someone, even though he didn't do anything wrong!'

"It wasn't your fault, Daddy!" Gemma assured him. "You couldn't help being frightened!"

"I should have called 911. Even a child knows that!" he countered.

Gemma turned to face her father, taking his hand in both of hers. "Daddy, remember when my best friend died when I in first or second grade?"

Nate nodded miserably.

"You told me that God knows when it's time to bring his children – human and animal – Home to be with him, no matter their age," she continued gently. "You said my friend would never know pain and fear again. Even if you had thought to call 911, it wouldn't have mattered. God called Rose Home to be with Him."

Nate lowered his head again, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. He'd known that was the case, but his guilt and hurt didn't allow him to believe it was true. Not until he heard his beloved daughter acknowledge it.

"Rose arranged for me to go to the nursing home months ago if she died before me," he replied to Gemma's inquiry about knowing he was leaving his home. He didn't add that he didn't want to go, or ask Gemma to stay there to take care of him.

Gemma wept in response, murmuring a heartfelt apology.

Nate squeezed her hands in comfort. ''Something's going on with you, little girl, that you can't stay with me. I wish you would tell me what's troubling you, besides my condition.'

He shivered a little, despite the warmth of the sun and the two shirts he wore.

"I'll get a sweater for you, Daddy," Gemma offered, leaping to her feet and wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve without waiting for Nate to answer.

She walked to the hall closet and withdrew a grey sweater her father preferred when he worked in the garden. She held it a moment, thinking of the number of times she'd seen her father wear the sweater while working in the garden. She stroked the well - worn fabric before she closed the door and started towards the kitchen.

Next thing she knew, Gemma's back was pushed against the door jamb leading to the living room. Amelia stood in front of her, holding a knife to her throat and demanding Nate's keys.

The first thing Tara was aware of when she regained consciousness was a throbbing pain at the back of her head. The second thing was that she was alive and was lying on a cold, hard surface.

'That bitch hit me with an oxygen canister! I'm lucky she didn't kill me!' Tara reached behind her head, feeling along her skull until her questing fingers touched a large lump. She hissed through her teeth in pain and drew her wet, sticky fingers away.

'Blood. Not a lot. The cut's not deep, that's a good thing,' she diagnosed a concussion, but the small cut would prevent pressure from building in her skull.

She heard the radio playing, but didn't hear anything else. 'Caregiver's probably taken off already. I'd better warn Gemma and Tig.'

She sat up, fighting back nausea. Her eyes focused on her bare feet. A blaze of anger swept the nausea aside. 'She stole my boots!'

She rose unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the leather chaise for support. Once her legs felt sturdy enough, Tara stumbled to the staircase.

She clung to the banister, fighting a wave of nausea, then placed one hand over the other on the banister, pulling herself slowly and painfully up each step.

The movement jarred her head, making the pain barely tolerable. She grit her teeth and kept pulling herself towards the door. She slowly opened it and saw that Gemma was pushed against the door jamb to the living room. Amelia held a knife to Gemma's throat, demanding the keys to Nate's car and threatening to cut her adversary.

Tara moved as quick as she could, looking wildly for Tig. 'He must be outside, keeping an eye on Nate!' Her eyes rested on the bronze _'Praying Hands' _statue. Without thinking of it, Tara's hands closed over it and lifted it from the small table where it rested. She was surprised by its' weight. 'Must be solid bronze to weigh so much!'

Gemma looked directly at Tara, but didn't allow herself to acknowledge the other woman's presence. She knew if she did she'd lose any chance of catching Amelia off guard. Gemma calmly told the caregiver she figured Nate still had the keys.

Tara crept behind Amelia, holding the statue as high as she could, bringing it down against the back of Amelia's neck instead of her skull. The blow was enough to knock Amelia sideways and the knife away from Gemma's throat.

Gemma quickly grabbed Amelia's knife arm with one hand while holding her by the waist with the other. She pushed the girl into the opposite wall near the hanging statue of the Crucified Christ. Gemma held the caregiver against the wall, placing her weight against Amelia's back.

Somehow, Amelia's knife hand became lodged between the wall and her body, with the blade pointed toward her. The force of the impact pushed the knife hilt - deep into Amelia's chest.

Tara couldn't hold the heavy statue any longer. She leaned against the wall opposite the one where Gemma had been held prisoner a few seconds earlier. The statue fell to the floor with a thud.

Amelia gurgled and fell to the floor, the knife sticking out of her chest. Gemma squatted near the caregiver as Tara gasped and fell to her knees, crawling to try to help the wounded girl. She felt for a pulse along Amelia's neck. There wasn't one.

Gemma stood up with a sigh when Tara announced Amelia's death. She was breathing a bit heavily but was otherwise unaffected by the caregiver's demise. Amelia had made her choice to attack Gemma and died as a result. Gemma felt no guilt over it.

Tara stared at Gemma in disbelief. 'How can she be so cool about this?' Though she'd participated in the death of Agent Kohn, she was a healer, not a killer. Fresh pain exploded in Tara's head. She placed a hand against the lump in an attempt to curb it.

'This isn't good,' Gemma thought. 'There's no telling how Daddy will react if he sees this!'

Tig strode into the kitchen through the back door.

"Holy shit!" He yelped, halting in his tracks at the sight of Amelia lying on the floor with a knife stuck in her chest.

Gemma was standing near the fallen caregiver while Tara was kneeling beside the body. Both looked a bit stunned. Tara held one hand on the side of her head. The large bronze '_Praying Hands_' statuette also lay on the floor.

"What the fuck happened here?" he roared

"I went to examine her wound where Gemma hit her face. She hit me with an oxygen tank when I loosened one of her hands," Tara gasped in explanation. "The circulation in her hands and feet was cut off."

"She attacked me from behind, held a knife to my throat and demanded the car keys," Gemma added hurriedly. "Tara hit her from behind with the statue and I wrestled with her. I intended just to hold her against the wall, but she stuck herself with the knife!"

"Shit!" Tig grabbed a dishtowel from the sink and strode to Amelia's body. Wrapping the dishtowel around the handle, he slowly withdrew the knife from the caregiver's chest.

"Start running hot water in the sink," he ordered tersely, watching the wound for signs of spurting blood. 'Hope it doesn't spurt. Don't need a bigger mess to clean up!' The knife came out cleanly, no blood spurted from the wound.

He carried the knife to the sink, bending to look in the cabinet under it. "Where's the bleach?"

"What?" Gemma asked dazedly.

"Bleach! Chlorine! White bottle of liquid used in washing clothes!" He snapped, holding the knife over the drain under the running water.

Gemma ran to the laundry room, returning quickly with the bottle of bleach. She placed it on the counter next to the sink and stepped back.

"Would you mind opening it? My hands are a little full here," Tig snarled, rolling his eyes at the Heavens.

Gemma undid the cap and stepped back again just in time to catch Tara before she fell to the floor.

"You OK?"

"My head hurts," Tara moaned through chattering teeth. Despite the warmth of the house, Tara's skin was clammy and cool.

Gemma helped Tara to one of the dining room chairs, then hurried to the den. She grabbed one of the blankets and returned to the kitchen, draping the blanket around Tara's shoulders.

"Th – thanks."

Still holding the offending blade over the open drain, Tig hefted the bleach bottle and poured a generous amount on the bloody implement. He rinsed the blade thoroughly with hot water, then poured more bleach on it, repeating the move several more times until he felt certain the blade was clean.

He wiped the blade on the towel he'd slung over one shoulder. He muttered darkly that he couldn't leave them alone for a few minutes without them getting into trouble. 'They're worse than Cat when it comes to gettin' into trouble!'

While Tig cleaned the knife, Gemma filled an ice bag for Tara, wrapped it in another towel, and handed it to the physician. Tara leaned against the arm of the chair, holding the ice bag gingerly against the lump on her head.

'I wish Tig wouldn't grumble so loud!' She also worried over how Jax would react if he ever learned of the caregiver's death. Gemma agreed that the club didn't need to know about it.

Tig announced that Clay and Jax would be arriving the following day. The club was running the Irish guns to SAMRRO. He decided not to mention the upcoming trip to Canada. 'Let Clay deal with that fallout!'

He wasn't too happy about having to go further away from home himself. 'I wanna have some time with Cat before we go back to jail. The way it looks now, we'll prolly get locked up as soon as we get back in town!'

"Shit! What are we gonna do now? We've gotta figure out what to tell my dad about Amelia!" Gemma moaned.

"We can tell Nate she decided to leave early. He should accept it. He's goin' to that place tomorrow anyway. We oughta be able to handle him for one day," Tig observed.

"We meaning me," Gemma replied dryly. "It's worth a shot. I'll tell him," Gemma replied. "In the meantime, what are we gonna do about _her_?"

"That's a problem a'right," Tig agreed. He racked his brain, trying to recall the name of the person he'd called for help the last time he'd gotten into a pinch in Oregon. He glanced at Amelia's body and the name came to him in a flash. 'Bachman!'

He ordered Gemma and Tara to get the body back to the basement while he made the appropriate phone call. He promised to keep an eye on Nate.

Tig stepped out to the back yard where he could keep an eye on Nate. 'I'll have to call Cat to get the number. SAMPOR and SAMRRO won't have it. It's not like Bachman's listed in the directory.' He drew the two – way from his pocket and pressed 'send'. He whispered a desperate plea as the phone rang. 'C'mon, baby! I need you to answer!'

Tara and Gemma carried Amelia's body back down the stairs to the basement. Gemma led the way, carrying Amelia by the legs while Tara carried the dead girl under the arms.

Tara still felt weak and nauseous. She'd already tossed her cookies in the kitchen sink, just after Tig stepped outside to call the cleaner. Carrying Amelia down the stairs wasn't an easy task. Her condition didn't make the task any easier.

"Take it easy, Tara! We don't need you gettin' hurt

again!" Gemma called out when Tara fell against the banister.

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Tara gasped, straining to keep herself upright and not drop the body on the stairs.

The two women shuffled across the cement floor, moving to the leather chaise. They literally tossed Amelia's body onto it.

Tara's cell phone rang again. It'd rung several times that morning, but she'd ignored it. Once the caller ID had shown Cat was calling, the other calls had been from Jax.

She dug it out of her back pocket and grimaced when she saw Jax's name on the caller ID. Gemma had already started for the stairs. Tara followed her, allowing the phone to ring. Gemma ordered her to talk to her son before striding up the steps.

Tara moved up a few of the steps, turned and sat down. She flipped open the phone and greeted Jax as if all was right with the world.

Jax sighed with relief to finally talk to her. He knew she'd reached Klamath Falls safely from her previous message. He needed the reassurance of hearing her live, instead of a recording.

She apologized for taking off on him, explaining that Gemma really needed help with Nate. At Jax's insistence, she related how Nate had mistaken Tig for a burglar and shot him in the back. She assured him that Tig was OK.

"Bet Tig got caught tappin' the gal," Jax murmured.

"Don't you dare say a word to Cat about that! We've agreed she should know about the wound; she'll find out about it anyway, but the story is that Nate mistook Tig for a burglar and shot him." Tara replied.

"OK. Message received!" Jax chuckled. 'I hope those two have an agreement about road sex, otherwise Cat's in for a world of hurt. Wish I could get Tara to change her opinion!'

Jax announced that he and Clay would be in Klamath Falls the following day. He was surprised that his announcement was met with indifference. 'Doesn't she miss me at all?' he wondered.

She assured him everything was going well as she glanced at the caregiver's body. She shut off the cell and sighed. 'Yeah. Real fine!' she mused dryly.

Jax closed the phone and tossed his cigarette on the sidewalk. 'Why do I have a feeling that things aren't as good as she's makin' it seem?'

He shrugged and walked into Lin's restaurant. His concerns about what was happening at his grandfather's evaporated as he stepped into utter chaos.

'No rest for the weary!' Cat sighed resignedly, reaching for the two – way and flipping it open. "Hey, love! How's everythin'?" She was pleased that her voice didn't give away her frustration. Any chance to speak with Alex wasn't one to take lightly.

"Hey back, baby. Not good. Nate's in bad shape and Gemma's not takin' it well."

"I know. She called earlier, needed a shoulder to cry on," Cat replied, deciding not to mention that Gemma had told her about his shoulder wound. 'Somethin' tells me y'all aren't just callin' to tell me _that._ What's up?"

"Fuck! Can't a man call to say 'hi' to his woman without needin' somethin' else?" Alex groaned, wondering how she'd figured out the reason for his call so quickly.

"Not when said man doesn't do that as a general rule," she retorted with a small laugh. "I forgot to mention earlier that Stahl increased the bounty on Gemma."

"Yeah. I found out about that." His hand caressed the bridge of his nose. "Stahl giving ya any more trouble?"

"Not lately," she replied grimly. "Makes me wonder what the bitch is plannin' next. Are y'all gonna tell me what brought about this call, love?"

"OK! OK! Shit! So much for ya pinin' away for the sound of my voice!" Alex capitulated. "I need a phone number from my cell, baby. It's an Oregon number, but your friends at SAMPOR don't know the guy."

She grinned wickedly, the dry humor evident in her voice. "And y'all wouldn't have had an excuse to hear the sound of _my_ voice!"

"Guilty," he growled. "Not that I need an excuse!"

"No, y'all don't need an excuse to hear me. Y'all know that I miss the sound of your voice. Got your cell, love. What am I to look under?"

She knew he didn't keep actual names in his directory in case the phone was lost or stolen. He had an elaborate code set up for all his contacts.

Alex felt his stomach flutter at her admission. "Borg," he stated.

"As in 'resistance is futile'?" she quipped.

"Huh?" he didn't quite comprehend the joke, then he caught on to the reference. "Oh, I get it. One of your Trekkie quotes."

She coughed warningly. "I have not been – and never will be – a Trekkie. I've always been a Trekk_er_! Y'all should know that by now!"

"Whatever!" His hand caressed his nose again and he sighed in exasperation. "Women! Can't do anything without making a production out of it!"

"Sounds like things have gone knockers up for ya since last time we talked, love. I'm sorry for givin' y'all a hard time," she replied contritely. "Ready for the number?"

He had the throwaway in his hand, ready to enter it. "Fire away, baby." He tapped it into the pre paid. "This'll be a big help, baby. He's the cleaner I told ya about."

"Ah, Bachman! The guy who helped you with the 2001 charges."

"Yeah. And consider me reminded of your status," he replied softly in apology for his temper.

"Good! I'm gonna get off the line so you can make your call. Be safe. See ya when I see ya, love."

Alex held the phone a moment after the call ended. His fingers stroking it the way he wished he could touch her. 'Just talking to her for a minute makes shit fall into place!' He glanced at Nate, who sat motionless on the bench a few yards away.

The cleaner's phone rang once. A cold, dead voice uttered one word. "Bachman." The voice sent a chill down Tig's spine.

"Tig Trager. SAMCRO. You available for a job?"

"When and where? And it better not involve livestock this time!"

"No animals," Tig assured him, quickly providing the details.

"I know the place. I'll be there in an hour."

Tig slipped both phones back into his jeans pocket. 'Bachman's never been one for small talk.'

Nate stood up and started to amble towards the house. 'Hope the girls got the gash outta sight,' he hurried to the kitchen door and peeked inside to find Amelia's body was gone.

Nate squinted at Tig as he held the door open for him. "Are you all right?" the older man inquired. "I don't recall your name, but remember I shot you."

"I'm Gemma's friend, Rev. Madoc. Tig. I'm fine," he replied gently. 'A lot like Cat's mom, doesn't remember from one minute to the next what you've told 'em. Must be Hell to live like that. Hope it never happens to me!'

Nate nodded and walked past Tig into the house, shuffling into the den to his chair. As Tig watched, the older man sighed and closed his eyes. He instantly fell asleep.

Tig shut the door to the den and returned to the family room. He'd just settled into a recliner when Gemma trooped up the basement stairs.

"Where's Dad?" Gemma asked anxiously.

"In the den, asleep. What did he do with the rifle?" Tig replied.

"He says he got rid of it. I'll go check the Caddy, just to make sure."

"Might be a good idea to get rid of any other firearms. Didn't think ministers kept guns," Tig observed.

"You're thinking of Cat's dad," Gemma replied. "He doesn't keep guns, does he?"

Tig shook his head. "He grew up on a farm, prolly knows how to shoot. Never saw a gun in the house. His wife had one, but I think he got rid of it once she was diagnosed."

"Rose or Amelia should've taken care of that, then you wouldn't have gotten shot and the Gaute wouldn't have tried to pull it on me," Gemma snarled, thinking of Rose. "Guess she wasn't as much in control as she thought she was!"

Tara trudged up the stairs while Tig and Gemma were talking. She retrieved the blanket and her ice pack and curled up on the settee.

"I just talked to Jax," she announced. "I had to tell him that Nate had gone off the deep end and shot you. He knows you were boinking the caregiver, but he's not gonna tell Cat about that part."

Tig closed his eyes for a moment. "None of his business anyway. Not his place to tell my woman what I was doin', either," he growled. Seeing Tara's startled expression, his expression softened. "Appreciate the intel, sweetheart. Thanks."

"Consider yourself one lucky man, Tig. I wouldn't be so understanding," Tara observed dryly.

"It's not cheatin', it's road sex!"

"There's a difference?" Tara inquired.

"Look, sweetheart, ya gotta change your attitude about road sex," Tig explained. "When a man's out on the road, away from home, fuckin's just another outlet. Doesn't mean anything."

"That's what Cat told me," Tara replied dryly.

Tig felt his stomach flutter to hear yet another confirmation of Cat's willingness to accept him as he was - warts and all. He smiled inwardly that unlike the majority of women, she didn't try to change him to suit her.

"I still don't like the idea, much less understand it. Don't know if I ever will," Tara added.

Tig shrugged. "Then you're gonna be in for a world of hurt, sweetheart."

Gemma strode into the family room, smiling with satisfaction. "The gun's not in the car. From the dust on it, I think he drove out to a favorite fishing spot. He likely threw the shotgun in the lake. That's the only gun he had."

"Bachman's on his way," Tig announced.

"I'll go look for some cash," Gemma replied, striding from the room.

"What exactly is a cleaner?" Tara asked.

"Ever see the movie '_Pulp Fiction'_?"

"Once a long time ago."

"That's what Bachman does," Tig explained "Bachman isn't as friendly as the guy in the movie. Best not to talk to him if he doesn't speak to you directly."

"I'll keep that mind," Tara replied.

Opie wasn't a happy man. He was the only man in Lin's restaurant who wasn't happy. All around him, his brothers and Lin's Hong Kong associates were drinking, eating, and enjoying the attention of a bevy of scantily dressed Asian and Caucasian beauties.

What made Opie unhappy was that Lyla was one of the half – naked women servicing the Hong Kong associates. 'I didn't expect her to offer to take part in this when I asked her to reach out to the Caracara girls for this thing! I should've just asked her for the phone numbers and kept her away from this!'

He shook his head and tossed back another shot of whiskey over his 20/20 hindsight. The club needed Lin's guns for the Grim Bastards, and the money for Serge's tracker. He didn't realize that Lyla considered this job more of a chance to prove herself as a friend of the club than to be a porn star.

Lyla knew that her working in the porn industry hurt Opie's feelings, but it was all her really knew and the money was good. Lyla used her feminine whiles on him, and like a fool, he'd agreed to let her participate. It hurt watching her cavort with Lin's associates just as much as it had when he saw her picture on the triple X rated DVD the day before.

Opie shuddered at the thought of how that job had almost gotten Jax, Bobby, and Juice hurt or worse. By allowing himself to get distracted, the two men he was supposed to be watching nearly got the drop on the trio as they attempted to apprehend Serge's bounty. 'If I'd been a few seconds later, both my brothers would've been dead!'

Fortunately, Opie had managed to sneak up behind the pair and forced them to drop their weapons. The fugitive had been apprehended after being struck by a hybrid vehicle.

'I wish Lyla didn't seem to enjoy this so much! It's like she's rubbing my face in it!' Opie thought miserably, tossing back another shot and flicking ashes from his cigarette into a plate of wontons.

'I don't know which is worse, her doing this to help the club and not taking money, or the fact that she does this for a living! What kind of woman _wants _to do this kind of thing to someone she knows or cares nothing about? It's almost like prostitution when you get right down to it!'

He poured yet another shot of whiskey and threw it back, finding no warmth or comfort in the liquor, and gazed balefully at the two men standing to either side of the double doors to the private room.

Behind those doors, Lin's associates were shooting home movies of the porn stars servicing them. 'Movies that will likely wind up being sold on the black market and lining someone else's pockets, likely Lin's or one of his associates.' Opie's thoughts were as dark as his mood as he kept his eyes glued on Lyla's every move.

Clay entered the restaurant where he'd been sitting outside before Jax had joined him for a bit. Jax had apparently stayed outside. Clay moved to the bar to talk to Lin and Piney.

Lyla acted oblivious to Opie's pain. She strutted around the outer room with the business – suited Asian men. She wore a very short ruffled plaid skirt that didn't cover her ass cheeks. She wore white knee socks and a skimpy shirt, supposedly posing as a schoolgirl.

She led one of the Hong Kong clients by the necktie towards the double doors, opened them, and pulled the man inside before turning around to close first one door, then the other. She never looked at Opie.

'If I look at him, I'll cry and ruin everything for everyone!'

It seemed to Opie that she looked right at him as she slid the doors slowly closed, giving him a good look at what was going on inside. The sight turned his stomach as did the idea of what she was getting ready to do to one of Lin's associates.

'How can I deal with this every day? Every time I turn around, there's another reminder that she does porn for a living. It hurts that men pay to watch her have sex!' He helped himself to another shot while Ima led another of Lin's clients into the private room.

Ima didn't close the door behind her, and Opie had a good, long look at Lyla, naked and on her knees in front of the client she'd led inside the room a few minutes earlier. The client had his pants down around his ankles. Lyla's hands were running up the client's legs.

Something inside Ope snapped. He jumped to his feet, striding purposefully to the private room. Chibs and Bobby called at him to stop. They couldn't move to intercept him due to the Asian cuties in their way.

Their shouts alerted Lin and Clay, who were standing at the bar. Clay was facing Lin, who was tending bar. Jax, who'd just come in from talking to Tara on the cell, also yelled for Opie to stop. He couldn't cross the restaurant in time to stop him.

Opie walked right past the two guards, shoving them to the side as if they were feathers. His focus was on Lyla and getting her out of that den of sin.

He reached out and grabbed someone's suit coat as he stalked towards Lyla. She jumped to her feet, putting herself between Opie and the businessman she'd been about to service. The latter was hastily pulling up his pants.

Shouts in English and Chinese erupted as Opie tossed punches with one hand and pulled Lyla to him with the other. She accepted the coat with only a token protest, drawing it around her nude body.

The guards belatedly rushed to stop Opie, meeting with resistance from the Sons. As Lin and Clay helplessly watched, a melee erupted with Sons fighting Chinese. The fight moved from the private room to the main portion of the restaurant. Tables and chairs were pushed over or broken as men landed on them. Fists were thrown; faces smashed; blood spattered all over from cuts caused by the heavy rings the Sons wore.

Lin stared in disbelief at the havoc and destruction going on in his restaurant. What should have been an enjoyable, relaxing, and profitable afternoon was rapidly turning into a big pile of shit.

He glared at Clay, not finding anything to laugh about in the man's comment about hoping someone was still filming. 'Films of brawls don't make money! We'll see who gets the last laugh!'

Cat gave up trying to nap after Alex's call. She decided to work on answering the emails Pete had printed for her. She settled in front of the office computer and pulled the stack of pages in front of her.

"I wish Pete had saved 'em as new so I didn't have to go on a huntin' expedition!' she grumbled to herself. "It's gonna take time to find 'em all and answer 'em. Can't complain when the kid's heart was in the right place, though.'

When she accessed the coffeehouse email, she found that Pete had saved the emails as new. To her surprise, the printed pages actually made the work a little easier. She was able to read the printed emails without having to squint or increase the font. She quickly worked her way through the stack. Then she gift wrapped the feline trio she'd picked out for Reese.

'I hoped to go visit him today, but after the fit Alex had about me drivin', I don't dare drive out on my own to the hospital. Maybe I can go there this evenin' after the funeral, if June's up to it.'

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it'd been awhile since breakfast. She fixed some Egg Drop Soup and returned to the office with the hot mug, sipping on it and surfing the county's web page for information about running for office.

Oswald had given her some good tips, but there were certain things she wanted to research on her own. She wanted a very clear understanding of the process of filing so there wouldn't be any mistakes.

'Tig'll probably have a fit about this. Once he realizes that the club would benefit from me holdin' that office, he should calm down. It only makes sense to have somebody keepin' an eye on Hale. It's not like the guys can run for office! It's just another way to make myself useful to them.'

It had never occurred to her before Oswald's call whether SAMCRO might already have a friend on the council. She'd never asked and Alex had never volunteered.

'If there _is_ a friend of the club on the council, there's no guarantee that person will get re – elected what with all the anti – SAMCRO sentiment Hale's stirrin' up. Hell, there's no guarantee _I'll_ get elected for that matter.'

She gazed at her reflection in the computer screen and smiled wryly. "But there's nothin' that says I can't use my injuries the same way Hale's usin' his brother's death! If he can pull the sympathy card, so can I!"

Tara had dispensed with the ice pack before lunch. Gemma didn't want anything in sight that might upset Nate. An unexpected ice bag might be enough to set his dementia off.

"I want him to remain as clear and focused as possible!" she advised them. Gemma prepared lunch for them and Tara managed a few sips of soup while Tig munched hungrily on a sandwich. Gemma opted for fresh coffee while her father picked at his plate.

"Where's Amelia?" Nate inquired, looking up from his meal.

"She's packing. She's decided to leave a day early," Gemma smoothly fibbed.

"I guess that's best," Nate agreed, stirring his soup before sipping from the spoon.

Tig glanced at Tara, then at Gemma, who shrugged noncommittally. He shook his head slightly and returned to attacking his sandwich.

'I'm surprised he's not more concerned about her!" Gemma mused, glancing at her father questioningly.

"She was here on a temporary visa. I think Rose mentioned it was going to expire soon," Nate explained.

Tara nearly choked on her soup at Nate's use of the word 'expired'. Tig thumped her a little more roughly than necessary on the back.

"Must've gone down the wrong pipe," he murmured.

Tara glared at him but nodded. "Y – yes, guess so," she sputtered. "Thanks."

Gemma fought the urge to kick her shins for the near slip. "Eat some more of your sandwich, Daddy," she gently urged him. "You need your strength."

"I'm not very hungry, honey. Think I'll go lie down for awhile," he stood up, kissed her on the cheek, and ambled off to the bedroom.

"You closed the door to Amelia's bedroom I hope," Tig muttered.

"It's taken care of, Tig. I just hope he doesn't decide to knock on the door to say 'goodbye' to her!" Gemma retorted. "I'll be glad when Bachman gets here."

"Crescent City's not far. I'll keep an eye out for him," Tig promised.

An hour after lunch, Nate woke from his nap and joined the women in the den to watch TV. Tig was sitting in the recliner where he'd made the phone calls when he heard the Harley engine pull up. He strode to the front door, indicating to Gemma their guest had arrived.

"Where's _he_ going?" Nate asked.

"Just out front," Gemma explained. "He doesn't like being shut inside on a nice day like this."

"Hmph!" Nate turned his attention back to the television.

Gemma leaned over to Tara and whispered, "Keep him in here until I get back. We'll spirit Bachman around the back door to the basement."

Tara nodded assent.

Gemma stood up and exited the den, pulling the door closed behind her. Tig had already opened the front door, watching the large red Harley maneuver through the drive. The roar of the engine filled the entry.

Nate hollered irritably to inquire who was coming to the house. Tig called out reassuringly that it was someone who was giving Amelia a ride. Gemma closed the front door after her as Tig strode to the driveway to meet Bachman.

Bachman removed his helmet and sunglasses, looking around the grounds. He placed the helmet on the saddle after he dismounted, sliding the sunglasses into his jacket pocket. His cold eyes squinted against the sunlight as Tig strode up to him.

"What's the job?" Bachman intoned without preamble.

Gemma stopped short behind Tig, keeping him between her and the cleaner. 'Damn, he's creepy!'

"Body in the basement needs to disappear," Tig announced.

"Show me."

Tig headed towards the back door, followed by Gemma and Bachman. They snuck inside the kitchen and on down the stairs. Bachman examined the caregiver lying on the leather chaise as Tig and Gemma watched.

He made a few notes on a pad, then removed a measuring tape from a pocket, using it on various parts of Amelia's body. He made more notes, then proceeded to use his hands to examine various parts of the caregiver, checking for any kind of implants that might cause a problem.

'No boob implants or false teeth. That's good. This won't be hard.'

Gemma glared at Tig while Bachman was 'feeling up' the caregiver.

"It's not like that, Gem," he muttered. "He's checkin' for things that aren't easy to get rid of."

"Doesn't look that way to me!" she whispered.

Tig looked back at Bachman, whose hands were probing Amelia's boobs before moving up to check her hair and mouth. He glanced back at Gemma who was still frowning, then shifted a little uncomfortably. Even though he'd had experience with cold packing, Tig found Bachman's cold, clinical handling of the caregiver disturbing.

Bachman completed his explorations and wrote again in his small notebook. He ripped the page from the book and handed it to Gemma. He announced that he needed the items on the list.

Tig looked over the list with her. It was pretty general, nothing that would make anyone suspicious. 'We'll still need to be careful," he observed.

Gemma knew that some of the necessary items were in the garage. What they didn't already have on hand Tara could purchase.

Bachman turned his cold, dead gaze on Tig. He stated he wanted music to listen to. Specifically music from the 80's.

Tig affirmed he'd make it happen. His voice carried a note of confidence that he didn't feel. 'How the Hell am I gonna accomplish that?'

Bachman either didn't know or care that he'd assigned Tig an impossible task. He held out his index finger as if pointing out something as he turned back to the caregiver.

Tig made eye contact with Gemma, indicating the stairs with a nod of his head.

'You don't have to tell me twice!' Gemma flew up the stairs, followed closely by Tig.

Bachman smiled humorlessly as he watched the pair's hasty retreat from his fearsome presence. He settled in the wheelchair to wait for them to return.

Clay stalked into the clubhouse, his eyes glinting with anger. 'Thanks to Ope, we damn near lost the guns for the Grim Bastards! We're out the money for the bounty hunter! Shit!'

Opie was no where to be found in the clubhouse, which Clay felt was a good thing. He wanted to kick ass and ask questions later and Ope was a good target for that ass kicking. Clay stormed into the chapel where Jax waited along with Juice, Bobby, and Chibs.

"What's the damage?" Jax asked

'Never thought I'd say this myself, but my hair hurts!' Clay slumped in his chair, rubbing his hands gingerly through his hair. "I had to give Lin the Italian connection. He demanded direct contact and 95% of the take from them in exchange for the guns. Piney's deliverin' 'em to the Bastards."

The other three winced as Jax blew smoke through his nostrils. "Could've been worse," he mused.

"It's bad enough," Bobby replied. "We really couldn't afford to lose that connection, much less the percentage."

"Ope can't handle Lyla being in the industry," Jax explained. "He's not used to having other men lusting after his woman. He was just as protective of Donna."

"Donna didn't make him do crazy shit!" Clay retorted. "Nor did she cost the club money."

"Lyla turned down her share of the fee up front!" Jax retorted. "She's tryin' to show she's as valuable to us as any of our women!"

"She needs to try harder. Cat, Tara, and Gemma don't do shit that hurts us!" Clay snarled.

"OK," Jax sighed. "I'll talk to him."

"You'd better get him to understand this kind of shit can't happen again," Clay muttered.

Jax nodded and left the chapel. He knew where he'd find Opie, and climbed to the roof of the clubhouse. Ope was sitting against a wall, smoking and looking like he'd betrayed his best friend.

"Clay's pissed."

"He's not real happy, Ope." Jax acknowledged, settling on the roof next to his friend.

"I'll bet." Opie didn't look at the VP. He stared straight ahead, a lit cigarette dangled from his fingers. "Look, man, I'm sorry - "

"This can't keep happenin'," Jax interjected. "You got sidetracked just lookin' at a box of one of Lyla's movies yesterday. That damn near got Juice and me jacked up. Now this clusterfuck with the Chinese."

"I know, man. I'm sorry. I'll find a way to make it right."

Jax sighed, blowing smoke through his nostrils again. "This one is gonna be harder to make right, Ope. _ I_ forgive you, but the club took a hit we couldn't afford."

"Bad?"

Jax told him the price Lin had extracted for the fracas. It made Opie wince.

'_How _am I gonna make this right with the club?" He stood up, dropped his cigarette, and ground it out.

"Where you goin', bro?"

"To think things out." Opie replied, walking to the ladder and climbing from the roof. He strode across the lot to the back of the garage, where his '63 Panhead was stored. He stood in the doorway of the storage unit, gazing lovingly at the blue and white bike he'd restored.

He'd rebuilt it during the lonely time after Donna had been killed. He'd been completing the last of the restoration when Tig admitted to pulling the trigger and why he'd done it. What was supposed to help him heal now represented nothing but pain and betrayal to him.

'The only way I can fix things with the club for this mess is to sell the panhead, but I don't have time to deal with selling it. This isn't something I can entrust with Lyla, she doesn't know jack about bikes. I don't want anyone in the club or garage knowin' about this, either."

He leaned against the door frame, smoking and thinking. There was only one other person in town who knew and appreciated motorcycles as much as any of his brothers.

'I've not always been on her good side, especially after the Morado thing. I don't have much choice. She's Tig's old lady and a friend of the club. She's the only person I can trust.'

He pulled out his cellphone and pressed the number marked 'CTH'. The phone rang a couple of times. 'Please be willin' to talk to me!'

Cat hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep at the computer until the landline phone jolted her awake. "Y'allo!"

'Thank God she's not grumpy when awakened from a sound sleep!' Opie straightened his shoulders. "Hi, Lady Cat. It's Opie. Sorry to wake you."

"S'all right," she murmured sleepily. "Had to get up to answer the phone!"

Opie grinned at the old joke. "Is it OK to come out for a bit? I need to talk with you."

Cat glanced at the clock above the desk, surprised that so little time had passed during her nap. June wasn't due back from the hospital for another hour, but the 'kids' were still at the coffeehouse and could be counted on to provide backup if needed.

"Yeah, c'mon out. Hope y'all don't mind talkin' on the porch."

"Not at all, Cat. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'll be waitin'!" she replaced the phone and stood up, stretching and wincing when her ribs reminded her why that wasn't a good idea.

"Haven't been one on one with him since the Morado thing. That didn't end very well; but he's a brother as much as Chibs. If he can be hospitable, so can I!"

Still, the idea of meeting privately with Opie without the presence of Alex or any of the other Sons made her nervous. She walked out to the porch to wait for him and lit one of her strawberry cigarillos.

'Tig would have a fit about me smokin', but what he doesn't know won't hurt me or him!' she grinned wistfully, wishing he was around to snarl or growl about it anyway.

Jax remained on the rooftop, watching Opie's progress across the lot. 'I don't know how you're gonna fix this one, Ope. I really don't. Things are spiraling further and further out of control. '

Thinking of clusterfucks reminded him of the latest one, with Tara taking off to Oregon against his orders. She'd said Gemma needed help with Nate, he'd urged her not to go, fearing she'd endanger herself and her career if she was caught harboring a fugitive.

Tara had ignored him. So far, her departure hadn't attracted the Feds' attention. Jax had a feeling their luck wasn't going to hold out much longer. He sighed at the thought of working out the logistics of finding his kid in Canada and exacting vengeance for Prospect on Cameron Hayes.

He took a deep drag on his cigarette. 'Wonder what Dad would've done in a situation like this?' He thought over all the words he'd read from his father's manuscript. The manuscript had been more of a love letter and wishful thinking about what he'd wanted the club to be. It gave him no answers for the situation the club was currently dealing with.

Nor could he find any answers written in the fluffy white clouds floating overhead. He'd never felt so alone.

Cat's heart didn't race in anticipation when she heard the unmistakable sound of a Harley engine roar down the street. 'Doesn't sound like a Dyna anyway!'

A blue and white Harley turned into the driveway. She recognized it as a vintage panhead, though she wasn't sure of the year. She watched as Opie dismounted and strode to the porch.

"Hey!" she smiled warmly and gestured at the chair next to her. "Cop a squat. Y'all are welcome to smoke if ya got one!"

Opie settled in the chair next to her, lit a cigarette, and tried to relax. 'Well, she hasn't pulled her gun on me! That's a good sign.'

"You're nervous, too, brother," she mused, catching him off guard. "Last time we spoke didn't end as well as it could've. Sorry I got mad at you for keepin' yourself outta jail!"

Opie smiled and blew a plume of smoke through his nostrils. "That actually makes sense, Lady Cat."

She gazed across the lawn at the panhead. "That the one you restored?"

He nodded.

"Mind if I take a closer look?"

He nodded, allowing her to approach the bike on her own. Cat walked towards the bike, running a reverent eye over it.

"Liked the sound of it comin' down the street," she called over her shoulder. "Sounds solid. How's she ride?"

"Pretty good," he called out. "The saddle's just a different feel."

"I can imagine," she grinned. "Very sweet, Opie." She sauntered back to the porch, choosing to lean on the railing across from him. "What's up?"

He inhaled more of his cigarette, then exhaled before replying. "I need your help to sell it."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I never thought you'd part with it. Not after all that time and effort y'all put into her!"

'I never thought it would happen, either. But after your old man confessed to killing my wife, I can hardly bear to look at it!'

He closed his eyes a moment before replying, "I fucked up and cost the club money. We've got a lead on Abel and need to pay a bounty hunter to track him and Cameron Hayes in Canada."

"And selling the panhead will make up for the mistake," Cat observed quietly. 'Not to mention havin' the bike around is a constant reminder of Alex's mistake!'

Opie nodded. "You're the only person who can handle this for me. I just don't have time to see to it myself, and don't want the club knowin' about it. You know bikes; appreciate 'em. I know I can count on you to get it sold fast."

"Are y'all sure you wanna do this, Ope? Y'all worked so hard to build her!" Cat asked gently, holding her good hand out in entreaty. "I'd be happy to buy her from y'all, then let ya buy her back in payments."

Opie's eyes widened in surprise. "You'd do that for me? You don't even know how much I want for it!"

"It's what one does for family," she replied simply. She inhaled on her cigarillo and walked over to the other side of the porch, allowing Opie some time to think.

Opie seriously considered the offer, weighing all the pros and cons. 'It'd be nice to keep the bike and get the money for the club at the same time. But I don't think it'd be possible to ever feel comfortable with it.' He shook his head wearily. 'Nah. Best to part with it and be done with it' He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over to Cat.

"I appreciate the offer, Lady Cat, but it's better if I just have it sold to someone I don't know."

Cat nodded sagely. "Less painful that way. I understand."

Opie reached into the pocket of his cut and pulled out the pink slip he'd signed. "Don't take less than 10 grand for it. That's what the club needs."

Cat accepted the pink slip and stuck it in her pocket. "I'll take some pictures and put her on Craig's list. Ebay takes too long; Craigslist has always been a good way to sell vehicles. I'm just surprised you didn't try a dealer."

Opie grimaced. "They can smell desperation like sharks smell blood in the water," he replied. "Prolly wouldn't give me what I want for her."

"That's true. They're like piranhas." Cat gazed at the bike again. 'Ten grand's not enough for a beauty like that. I'll just buy her and sell it back to Opie later; he's bound to have seller's remorse sometime!'

Opie caught the speculative look in Cat's good eye, and shook his head emphatically. "No, ma'am! I can't and won't let you do that. You sell her, fair and square, to some other person. I can't – I _won't_ - take your money for her!"

Cat nodded reluctantly. "Have it your way, brother. Do y'all need a ride back to the clubhouse?"

"I'd appreciate that."

She disappeared into the house for a few moments, returning with her digital camera and the keys to her bike. "If y'all don't mind a crotch rocket, y'all can take _Blackie II_. He needs a good run and it's about time for his routine service. He can stay at the garage until Tig gets back. He's the only person who services my ride."

Opie accepted the keys. "If you'll open the garage door for me, I'll put the panhandle in there for you."

"Sounds like a plan. Let me get the pics first, while she's in good light." Cat quickly took shots of the front, back, and sides of the bike, along with close ups of the engine block.

Opie rolled the panhead into the garage while Cat removed the tender leads from _Blackie II'_s battery. She then replaced the side panel over the battery and stepped aside.

Opie straddled the Yamaha and inserted the key, glancing inquiringly at her before starting it. "You sure about this, Lady Cat?"

"I'm sure, Ope. Take good care of my boy."

"I will, Lady Cat. Thanks, and remember, no keepin' the panhead for me."

"I promise! Scout's honor!" Cat grinned and performed the Girl Scout salute.

It didn't occur to Opie that he'd not asked whether Cat had ever been a Scout until he was half way to the clubhouse. By that time, it was too late to turn back to ask.

Tig couldn't believe his ears. 'Bachman wants _eighties_ music! Nate doesn't have anything like that in the house; the Gaute only listened to salsa.' He walked into the kitchen, shaking his head and wondering how he was going to 'make it happen'.

Gemma and Tara were already gathering the items on Bachman's list. There were a few things Tara would have to obtain from the local stores. "It's important you spread out the purchases; don't arouse suspicion."

"Got it. I'll be back as soon as possible," Tara replied.

Gemma glanced at Tig, who was squatting on the floor in front of the stereo cabinet, looking through the family record collection. "What are ya gonna do about Bachman's music request? I'd help ya, but Daddy's collection has two things in it, and none of it is from the 80's."

'Sounds a lot like Cat's father. Same taste in music. I wonder -' He looked at the titles along the spines, recognizing one particular album he'd seen before.

"Damn! There it is! Same Cosby album!" He stood up, a slight smile on his face at the reminder while his hand went to the bridge of his nose. "Definitely nothin' here that fits the bill."

Gemma sighed and leaned against the door frame, glancing at the computer. "Guess you could use the computer, but there's no MP3 or Ipod to download the shit. Too bad Cat's not here, she'd probably have a tape player with her and some tapes."

Tig looked at the computer again, smiled, and drew out the two – way. "There _is _a way she can help me. She can tell me what music to find. She sent the laptop with me. I can haul it to the basement."

"What are you thinkin' of doin', Tigger?"

"Cat's got a couple of accounts on You Tube. I'm hopin' she can load up what Bachman wants and it can be played on the laptop."

"Guess it's good Daddy or Rose opted for wi – fi. Least you don't hafta worry about runnin' wires," Gemma mused. "I'll go sit with my dad, keep him busy. Give Cat my love."

Tig nodded and pressed 'send' on the two - way, hoping he wouldn't get voice mail. He was rewarded with her cheerful voice after the first ring.

"Hey, love! Did you get hold of Bachman?"

"Hey, back. He's here. I need your help again," he replied. "Where are ya?"

She'd just settled in front of the computer and posted the ad on Craigslist for the panhandle. "In the home office playin' on the 'puter. What can I do for y'all?"

Alex relaxed against the chair back, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. "Eighties music. Bachman wants to listen to that while he works."

His explanation was met by a brief silence on her end. "He didn't give you anything more specific?"

"Sorry, baby. That's all he said. Problem?"

She sighed. "It could be. There were a lot of different genres. That was the decade MTV launched so the music business really scrambled to make shit available on a 24/7 basis. There was a lot of strange shit that got released."

Tig let out a long whistle. "Shit! Bachman doesn't invite questions."

"I suppose askin' him for specific song titles won't endear y'all to 'im."

"You catch on fast," Alex replied approvingly.

"And y'all have no idea who Bachman likes or dislikes?"

"I checked in his ride for clues and found Nada."

"A true man of mystery."

"That's it a'right. He's quiet, doesn't say much, even when asked somethin' direct. He's about our age, if that tells ya anythin'."

Cat laughed outright. "Love, that just tells me he could be a closet disco fiend!"

Tig grinned, his nose wrinkling at the idea of Bachman listening to disco. "He's definitely not the disco type. Didn't that craze die out in the 80's, anyway?"

"It was still strong at the start of the decade, love. That's why his request is so daunting. Hell, even KISS delved into disco with one album."

"Just one?" he teased.

"Hey, watch it!" she growled at him. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Bachman that might give me an idea?"

"Baby, you know as much as I do at this point. He's a cleaner. Not like the guy in that movie _'Pulp Fiction'_."

There was another pregnant pause on her end. Alex knew she was thinking over his dilemma and didn't press her to talk.

"Damn," she sighed wearily. "If Nate's like Daddy, he doesn't have a rock and roll collection. I doubt that Bachman has religious music in mind, or comedy albums for that matter."

"Well, Gemma's dad does have that old Bill Cosby album with the '_Noah'_ bit like Blaine has, but that's the only one I saw. Does every minister have a copy of that?"

"I think it's mandatory, love," Cat laughed. "That's not gonna solve our problem, though."

He could hear the clicking of keys over the phone and knew she was working on the computer. "Are you on the store's web page?"

"Nope. None of the play lists from the coffeehouse are gonna help y'all. I'm on You Tube."

"Your account, or _Charming Pawse's?" _Alex turned on the computer and accessed the internet. He loaded You Tube and started looking through the coffeehouse's music page. 'Pickin' and choosin' through that won't work. Bachman doesn't like an audience while he works.'

"I'm looking through my personal account, love," she replied.

'_Indianacat._ Has a lot of shit on it.' He accessed it and selected the first play list without thinking, wincing at the artist names and song titles.

"Donna Summer, '_State of Independence_', no way! Dexy's Midnight Runners, _'C'mon Eileen', _dunno. '_Who Can It Be Now_' might work. Bay City Rollers? Oh, no, baby!"

"Oh, y'all have a 'puter there, eh? This'll go a lot quicker, then. Y'all can help me choose what'll work."

"Even though you're not under surveillance any more, we can't keep the line open that long!" Alex protested.

"I know, love. But I can set up an appropriate play list and add clips to it. You can refresh the screen every so often, check over the selections, give 'em a thumbs up or down."

"Don't I have to have an account name to do that?"

"I dunno. We can try it while we're on the line together. It's the only thing I can think of. Give me a couple of minutes."

She set up a new play list, named it, and scrolled through her other play lists, moving promising song titles to the new one.

'Shit! I've gotta have the tunes by the time the doc gets back!' He didn't try to talk to her while she worked, allowing her to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"OK, love, here's the deal. I've made a play list called _'File'_. Refresh the screen and see if you can access it."

He followed her directions and breathed a sigh of relief. "Got it. You don't have very many tunes in it."

She bit back a snarky response. "I just started. Didn't wanna load it down if this doesn't work."

"A'right, gimmie a minute to review what you loaded," he grinned at the mental image of her indulging in digital communications and read through the short list. He selected thumbs down to '_Don't You Forget About Me_' and approval to '_You Got Lucky_' and '_Boys of Summer_'. "You're testin' me on that first one, baby. Not nice!"

"Just tryin' to cover all the bases, love. You done?"

"Yeah."

"OK. I'll refresh my screen. . .and, voila! We're in business! How much music do ya need?"

'How long does it take to get rid of a body?' Alex performed some rapid mental calculations. "A lot. Six hours' worth."

Cat whistled. The high pitch coming over the phone made him wince.

"I know, baby. There's a big mess for him to clean up. Ya don't wanna know."

"You're right. I don't."

"Guess we'll give this a try, baby. Do me a favor, don't name the file '_Music to Clean By_'," he requested.

"I was thinkin' more along the lines of '_Bachman's Hit List_'," she teased.

"Cat," he growled warningly. "Don't get cocky. Just because I'm not with you doesn't mean you're allowed to act nuttier than usual."

"Jaysus! Just take all the fun outta it why don't cha!" She laughed as she added more tunes to the play list. She copied Prince's '_7_' and Pink Floyd's '_How I Wish You Were Here_', along with a Ramones and AC/DC cut.

"Just remember, baby, if you misbehave, I can and will make you pay the penalty on my return," he informed her softly.

"Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises," she replied, just as softly.

"How ya feelin', baby?"

"Hangin' in there. Tryin' to rest up for the service tonight. Which reminds me, I'm gonna post the video of the service on this same account instead of the coffeehouse webpage."

"Why's that?"

She told him about the block of missing emails. "Stahl overheard me talkin' to Pete about it. Don't wanna post the funeral on the webpage and have her askin' more questions." She added the Moody Blues '_The Other Side of Life_' and Styx's '_Renegade_' to the list as she spoke.

'That's when Juice was hackin' into Amelia's email. Dumbass forgot to save 'em as new after he read 'em!' Alex winced. He refrained from sharing that news with his wife. "Anything else disturbed on the site?"

"Nah. Payments for merchandise is routed through PayPal, so the hackers got nothin' for their effort," she replied. "Could've been worse."

Alex grunted and refreshed the play list page. He was surprised by the number of selections she'd added. "I'll do that. Given any more thought to my idea about takin' time off?"

"Definitely. I'll be glad when this day is over!"

'You and me both, baby!' Alex refreshed the screen again and ran a critical eye down the additional selections.

"Good to hear you're finally showin' some sense." Before she could launch a snarky reply, he inquired, "Is the kid that got hit still critical?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. But he's recoverin', and that's the important thing. The Patriot Riders are gonna be at Hale's funeral, by the way."

"Huh! Would've thought the drive – by would've scared 'em off!" Alex retorted.

"No one's gonna take any chances with those Westboro idiots. They're zealous, and that makes 'em unpredictable. That's what the Patriot Riders are all about, love. Protectin' the sanctity of the military funeral."

"Just watch out for any slow movin' vans. Be sure to duck this time!" Alex refreshed the screen again and clicked on the choices.

'I don't like the idea of her goin' to the funeral at all. Not like I can do anything to keep her from it. She's there, I'm here. Hours of ridin' between us. She's really got no choice about stayin' home. It'd be suicide to her business.'

"Y'all are bein' pretty quiet, love. Worried about the funeral, I guess." she murmured softly.

"Yeah. Just be sure to take your uncle with you for safety."

"I fully intend to, love. Wish I hadn't missed the tire the other night. Then we wouldn't have another funeral goin' on."

"Baby, you can't blame yourself. Unser and Clay missed, too!" Alex closed his eyes, suppressing a shudder that she'd put herself in harm's way the other night. 'If I'd been there, she wouldn't have been able to put herself in harm's way. I've got a bone to pick with the guys about that!'

"I 'spose you're right," she sighed. "Love, as much as I'm enjoyin' talkin' to ya, every extra minute we spend on the phone is more time some Fed might try to tap in. I should've hung up a long time ago."

Alex grinned. "There ya go, thinkin' like an outlaw again!" The idea of ending their brief conversation pained him, though he didn't want to admit it.

"Somebody has to!" she retorted. "There's enough shit hittin' the fan without us givin' Stahl any more help than she deserves. Take care, love. See ya when I see ya."

"Later, baby. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves things wide open to interpretation!" she laughed and broke the connection.

Alex grinned as he scrolled through the play list, smirking at her strange sense of humor in some of the songs she'd selected, such as '_Under Pressure'_ and '_Hurts So Good_'. "The little minx! She's coverin' the bases, a'right!"

He indicated his approval of most of the selections, only some of the slower tunes like Julian Lennon's '_Valotte_' and Springsteen's '_I'm on Fire_' got a thumbs down from him.

'_The Wanderer_? Wasn't that a sixties tune?' He frowned. 'Eddie Rabbit's a country singer! I gotta check this out!' He clicked on the play button, and was rewarded with a do-wop style of the tune.

His head bobbed in time with the rhythm. 'Yeah, I guess it'll work. Worse that can happen is Bachman will skip it.' He clicked on the thumbs up icon and returned to the list, refreshing it again in hopes of additional titles.

"OK, woman! Now you're askin' for trouble!" he laughed, clicking on the thumbs down icon under '_Smooth Criminal_' and '_I Need a Hero_'. He nodded approvingly at titles like The Who's '_Eminence_ _Front_' and KISS' '_Heaven's on Fire_'.

His brows furrowed in puzzlement at the next selection. "_Jesus Built My Hot Rod_? Who the fuck is Ministry? And Alan Parson's Project? Didn't they do concept albums? Holy shit!"

His hand went to his nose again. 'I didn't exactly make it easy for her to figure this shit out. She's tryin' her best. Damn Bachman anyway! Guess it can't hurt to give the tunes a listen."

The Ministry cut turned out to be what she'd referred to as 'trash rock', and seemed to him like something that Bachman would appreciate. The selection from Parsons, '_Games People Play_' seemed like Cat was taking another dig at the cleaner, and an appropriate one at that. It was a catchy enough tune so he approved it.

By the time Tara returned from her shopping expedition, Cat had compiled more than enough music. 'Prolly more than he'll need.'

He considered calling her again to thank her. He decided not to. 'She's tired, I could hear it in her voice. Best to save the call for later, when I can tell her about Canada. 'Sides, she knows I appreciate her help.'

He retrieved the laptop and power cord from his duffel bag and carried it to the basement. Gemma and Tara followed carrying bags full of the items Bachman had requested.

"Music's on the 'puter," he explained to Bachman as he set up the laptop. He accessed the You Tube account and hunted for the file. 'What the - ! Oh, Christ! I'm gonna kill her for this!'

He winced to find _'BHL'_ had replaced the name _'file'. _ He hurriedly clicked on the first song so it could load, noting the first title with a grunt of displeasure.

"Everything's on one play list and autoplay's enabled so the songs'll change on their own," he explained, hurriedly hiding his distress from the cleaner. "It's easier than havin' to change tapes or CDs."

Bachman nodded assent. "Where are the things I asked for?"

Tara and Gemma stepped forward with the paper bags. Bachman pointed to the floor near the slop sink. They placed the bags where he indicated and hastily retreated to the staircase.

"Start the music and leave," Bachman ordered, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. "I'll find you when I'm finished."

"A'right," Tig replied, clicking on the 'play' icon. He turned and shepherded the women to the stairs.

Tara turned as if she wanted to ask Bachman a question. Tig frowned and shook his head. "Upstairs," he ordered tersely.

Tara scurried up the stairs after Gemma with Tig following close behind. Bachman waited until he heard the door close behind Tig, walked stealthily up the stairs, and locked the basement door. The first selection of the 80's tunes blared from the laptop's speaker.

Bachman paused a moment, listening to the first selection, Prince's '_Let's Get Crazy_'. He nodded approvingly, walked quietly down the steps, and began removing the items from the bags.

June frowned as she pulled into the drive to find her good friend sitting out on the front porch. 'I figured she'd be resting up for the funeral!'

She got out of the car and walked up to the porch. "What's up, chick? Why are y'all out here?"

"Just gettin' a little air," Cat replied airily.

"And squintin' I see. The light sensitivity gettin' any better?" June dropped her purse and briefcase to the porch beside her chair.

"No. I keep thinkin' a little more exposure to light might make a difference. It ain't."

June winced in sympathy. "Wish y'all hadn't canceled that appointment with the eye doctor. I just hope the problem isn't gonna be permanent."

"That makes two of us, kittenface. But the kids needed me at the practice. They finally nailed the bridge."

The two fell into a companionable silence, gazing out across the front yard. Birds flew back and forth from the feeder Alex had placed in the tree for her after he'd moved in. He'd not allowed her to climb the tree to position it, even though she'd climbed many trees in her past.

"I don't want ya fallin' outta the tree. Ya might injure somethin' important!" he leered, nimbly scaling the trunk and easing himself onto a sturdy branch.

"As if I can with you around!" she retorted, watching as he fastened the feeder to a branch she could easily reach from the ground. It was high enough to keep dogs and other earth – bound critters from disturbing it.

"I hope the birds don't decide to put a deposit on the Chrysler!" June mused. "I ran it through the car wash on the way home."

"Don't say that too loud; they might hear y'all and think it's a good idea!"

"Too late!" June winced, watching as a low flying bird left a splatter on the sparkling windshield. "Dammit!"

"Shit wipes off," Cat laughed as the phone rang. She'd carried the cordless outside with her. The landline number had been put on the ad.

She'd already taken a couple of calls about the panhead, but the buyers wanted to negotiate a lower price than the amount Cat had noted. 'What in the Hell do these idiots think 'non negotiable' means?'

"Yallo, can I help y'all?"

"You're selling that '63 panhead on Craigslist." the caller replied in a deep voice.

"Yes. But don't bother askin' if I'll take less than the advertised price," she replied.

"I won't," the voice responded in the same cool, quiet manner. "I know what 'non negotiable' means. Why are you selling her?"

Cat frowned at the inquiry. This was the first potential buyer to ask such a question. "I'm not the owner, but there is a good reason for sellin'. The owner needs money."

"Good enough reason. This economy's been hard on a lot of people," the voice stated. "You have the pink slip?"

"Signed and legal. Y'all wanna come see her?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," the caller replied. "May I come see her today?"

Cat glanced at June's watch and frowned. 'I can't pass up a possible sale, but it would cut close to the time we gotta leave for the funeral.'

"Are y'all in town?" she inquired.

"I'm in Stockton at the moment. Could be there in an hour."

"There's just one problem," Cat explained the timing problem with Hale's funeral.

"Ach! I heard aboot tha'. Sad thing. Of course ye'd want ta attend. How aboot tomorrow mornin'?'

Cat frowned over the slight accent. The voice was sounding more familiar to her than ever. "Sure thing. Hang on a second, would y'all?"

She handed the phone to June, dug out her cell, and dialing Opie's number.

"Opie speaking."

"It's Cat. Gotta potential buyer for the panhead, but he can't get here until tomorrow mornin'. Would eight be too late for y'all?"

"Go for it, Lady Cat. I didn't expect a buyer so soon!" he rumbled.

"We'll find out tomorrow, then. Talk to y'all later," she pocketed her cell and retrieved the cordless from June. "Sir? Tomorrow mornin' at eight too early?"

"That's foine by me. Where can I see her?"

'There's that accent again!' she frowned again. "Are y'all familiar with the coffeehouse called '_Charmin' Pawse'_?"

"Do you have a website?" When Cat affirmed there was, he continued, "I'll look it up on line."

"My house sits directly behind it on the next block. I'll have coffee ready."

"I'll see you then," the male voice replied.

"Care to tell me what's goin' on?" June inquired, glancing out the side of her eye at her friend.

"Opie needs to sell his vintage panhead. I agreed to handle the sale. That caller seems to be interested," Cat replied non – nonchalantly.

"Did the buyer give you his name?"

Cat shook her head. "Funny thing. I never got around to askin'. But there was somethin' about the voice. He kept droppin' an accent that sounded familiar. "

"Guess we'll find out in the mornin'," June replied. "C'mon. We'd better get that eye bandage of yours changed and get ready for the service. Pete and Adrian still ridin' with us?"

"Far as I know," Cat replied, grabbing the phone and holding the door open for June while keeping an eye out for Ebony. "You, young man, stay put!" she called to the cat, nudging him away from the door with her foot.

The black cat flattened his ears and batted at her boot. June laughed and slipped inside the door, using her briefcase to prevent the cat from getting past her. "Nice try, old sock. The humans win again!"

Ebony lashed his tail in frustration at being stopped from getting a taste of the great outdoors without a screen in the way. He sat down in a huff, lifted one leg in the air, and proceeded to wash his butt.

"I think we've been insulted," June grinned.

"I _know _we're gettin' insulted," Cat replied. "Felines have this attitude about washing. The lower the appendage bein' washed, the greater the insult to the person they're washin' in front of!"

The two women left the cat to his bath and walked down the hall to change for the service. After she changed clothes, June put a clean bandage over Cat's eye, then handed her a knitted eye patch made from black yarn.

"When'd you make this?"

"Started on it last night while you and the music teacher were out. Finished it up durin' a staff meetin' today. Miss Margaret looked intrigued by how it kept me sane. At one point, I feared she'd stab someone with one of my knittin' needles!"

"Hope she wasn't gonna grab the bamboo ones. I know how sacred those are," Cat grinned. Her good hand caressed the soft patch. "Feels nice. Why black?"

June shrugged. "That's your color, chick. 'Sides, y'all don't want your eye standin' out like a sore thumb, do ya?"

"I guess not, kittenface." She slipped the patch over the bandage, then moved to the mirror to admire the affect. "Nice! Though it kinda reminds me of a pirate!"

"Thank you! That's exactly what I wanted!" June was decked out in a black knee length skirt with black shirt. A gold necklace and matching earrings completed her ensemble, giving it a little color.

"I think we're ready, just as soon as they boys get here," Cat noted.

The doorbell signaled the arrival of Adrian and Pete. Cat grabbed her suede fedora, stopping in the office for the digital camera and a pack of back up batteries.

"I promised to record this for Gemma," she explained.

"You're not puttin' it on the coffeehouse website?" June gasped.

"Hell, no! My personal You Tube account."

June nodded and the women slipped out of the house before Ebony realized they were leaving. The black cat hopped into the front window, glaring angrily at being foiled yet again.

Cat's two employees had brought their suits to work and changed in the coffeehouse bathroom. They stood waiting on the porch, gazing doubtfully at the overcast sky overhead.

The forecast hadn't mentioned a word about rain. Grey clouds had gathered all morning, dimming the sun until it was covered by the dense gloom. By the time the women joined Pete and Adrian on the porch, a steady drizzle had begun.

The streets glistened with moisture and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. It wasn't cool enough to be uncomfortable, but the weather was making for an appropriate funeral setting.

Piney's tri – wheel pulled up in front of Cat's house. Chuckie was sitting on the trunk, clinging to the canister that carried Piney's oxygen canister.

"What on Earth?" Cat waved at Piney and started towards the street. Pete followed, extending an umbrella over Cat's head.

"Sorry to spring this on ya, honey," Piney rumbled apologetically. Chuckie scrambled from the tri wheeler and waved at her. "Clay wants the whole club ridin' to the grave site."

"A show of unity and strength. I understand," she nodded, waving back at Chuckie. "Chuckie's in need of a ride."

Piney grinned at her. "Figured you'd understand. Glad I caught ya in time. Nice patch, by the way."

"Thanks," she turned back to June and called out, "Y'all mind one more passenger?"

"Glad I didn't opt for a Neon, or your friend would hafta ride on the luggage rack!"

Cat wrinkled her nose and turned back to Piney. "That means she doesn't mind. Don't envy y'all the ride in this drizzle."

Piney grinned at her. "Ah, I've been in worse. Ya get used to it." He fired up the engine and waved at her. "See ya at the service, honey."

"Which car are we taking?" Chuckie asked as they walked back up the drive to join the men and June. He waved at his former co – workers, who grinned and waved back.

"June's 300M over there. No one else is goin' for a ride in the Black Beauty until Tig gets back and has the first ride." Cat announced.

"I accept that!"

"Miss Cat, that eye patch reminds me of a Russian lady spy!" Pete grinned.

"Like Hell! I prefer the pirate look!" she retorted.

Wait until Alex sees you with that black eye patch. He'll surely have somethin' to say about it," June replied.

"No doubt," Cat laughed.

"I accept that!" Chuckie grinned. "Tig seems to have a one track mind where you're concerned, Miss Cat."

Chuckie was saved from a scathing response by June. "Hadn't we better get a move on? We don't wanna be late."

They settled in the car, June waiting patiently for Cat to buckle the safety harness. She sighed in exasperation and strapped in, then turned to look at Pete, who was sitting behind June.

"Get everybody outta the shop OK?"

"Yeah. Miss Anna was the hardest to convince. She still thinks you should've stayed open." he assured her.

"I sincerely doubt anyone's gonna be stoppin' in for coffee. I told her she should go to the service with her kids."

"She did," Adrian offered. "But she wasn't happy about it. She plans to come straight back after the service to open up."

"I think she's been hangin' around Bobby Munson. He had the same opinion about closin' up for the funeral. I had to remind him who owns the majority share of the joint!" Cat observed with a wry grin.

"Those reporters might decide to hang out at the coffeehouse again after the burial service," Pete replied. If the shop's open, they're likely to hang out between the evening and final newscasts and add to the day's receipts."

Cat sighed. "That's about the only good thing to come out of the media stampede."

"Any takers on the panhandle yet, Cat?" Adrian inquired.

"Possibly. Got a guy comin' out tomorrow mornin' to see her. He'll be here at eight. Can I count on one of y'all to come over?"

"I could come out, Miss Cat!" Chuckie offered.

June glanced up in the rear view mirror to look at Chuckie, then turned her attention back to the road. "I think that's a good idea. He's older, and if he keeps his hands behind his back, the buyer won't know the difference."

"Do you anticipate trouble?" Pete asked.

"Not exactly, darlin'," Cat reassured him. "The buyer didn't give me his name, that's a bit of a red flag."

"Why don't I come back with you two tonight and sleep on the couch?" Chuckie inquired. "That way, I'll be right there and no one has to come get me."

"That's a good idea, Miss Cat," Pete added. "Mr. Tig can't get upset about him staying there with two women!"

"You don't know Tig!" Cat grinned. "But I think that's a good idea. I'd rather have a male presence on hand than goin' it alone."

"I think under the circumstances, Tig will understand," Chuckie assured her.

"I accept that," she grinned, turning to face the windshield again, watching the wipers clear the windshield of the drizzle. "Looks like the deposit put on your car's gone," she remarked.

"You did say that shit wipes off!" June retorted. "I suppose you're gonna blame me for this rain!"

"Nah. Even though y'all washed the car, it seems appropriate that Heaven is mournin' Charmin's loss as well."

Cameron Hayes had met with Father Kellan the day after he dropped off Abel with Maureen. He'd confessed his sins to the priest, received his acts of contrition to perform, and an order to be quick as they needed to talk.

Father Ashby wasn't just a man of the cloth. He was involved with the IRA and a major part of the SAMBEL – SAMCRO gun running operation. Cammy had caused a major problem between the IRA and the clubs by taking Abel and killing SAMCRO's prospect.

After they'd talked about Cameron's future, and Kellan Ashby felt assured he'd lulled Hayes into a false feeling of security, the good father wasted no time in taking Abel to a adoption agency. Maureen had objected, but as usual, Father Ashby got his way.

When Cameron Hayes returned to the church, Father Ashby blessed him, then one of his two henchmen strangled the life out of Hayes. As the breath left his body for the last time, Cameron looked upon his cousin with shock and dismay.

'I should've known better!' Cameron's last thought was evident in his expression.

"May ye know Peace, laddie," Kellan intoned as Cameron's body slumped lifelessly to a pew.

Father Ashby tersely ordered his guards what to do with Hayes body. He felt a little like Pontius Pilate washing the blood from his hands after ordering Christ's death. 'It's for the good of many,' he tried to assure himself. The thought gave him little comfort. He knew the news of Cameron Hayes' death would soon reach SAMCRO, and that would bring them en masse to Belfast, where he needed them.

.


End file.
